


Of Wolves and Men

by AlyKat, roguebowtie



Series: Courtship [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alchemist Bruce, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Beta/Omega Origins, Chisholm's an uber dick, Crossing Borders, First Time, M/M, Magic, Magical Gay Superhero Fanfiction, Mid-Arthurian Era (if you squint), Mpreg, Not really though, Obediah Wolf is still a Dick, Pack Dynamics, Phillip's Mother Jocelyn, Postpartum Depression, Slow Build, Smith Phillip, Time Between Times, Warning: Clinton's dad is not a dick and was actually a pretty great guy. He’s still dead though., Werewolves, Wolf Anthony, Wolf Clinton, Wolf Pepper, fae, kiiiinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 125,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguebowtie/pseuds/roguebowtie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a time of legend beyond memory. Of magic and beginnings.  Of a change in the order of things.  Worlds more closely connected, peoples co-existing quietly until they are driven away, hunted, feared.  A time when there was the world of Men, and the world of Wolves.  Long before the designations of today, they were Wolves and Men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ((Happy Hanukkah 2014 :) I hope you enjoy this companion story in the series. Believe it or not, its relavence will be shown.... in time. Enjoy! ~R))

 

** * PROLOGUE * **

“How about this one, Mr. Coulson?” Stewart asked, bringing a book over to him. He looked up at his adoptive mother, and she smiled, and nodded, promising to come get him once she’d finished her shopping at the boutique.

“This is a pretty big book,” Phil said, the title _World Legends_ staring back at him from a colorful cover. “Is there a story you want most? The flood? How the world’s made?”

“Does it have the story about before the Fire Rain?” he asked. “The one with the wolves?”

“Ah, that is an old story, did you know every culture has their own version?”

Stewart looked at him confused. "Culture?”

"Culture is different peoples. Like America, or Europe, or Asia...”

“Oh!”

“Here, this one is a little old for you, how about we get one of the smaller books that talk about the Wolves?”

“Okay!”

Phil sat back down with the smaller book, Stewart scrambling into his lap. With the attentive little boy sitting close, he began to read.

 

* * *

_A long time ago, before the loss of the Library of Alexandria, in a time when the magic realm of Other lay only a step away from the Real world, there were two peoples who lived side by side. Indeed, they had done since the time of Creation. Through the trial of the Great Flood, and beyond, coexisting were the Wolves of Other, and the Men of Earth._

_There came a time when Men began to fear the magic of Other. Where they feared the Wolves and sought their destruction. The Wolves were hunted, and both they and their cousins, the wild wolf, to the point where there were very few packs left of either upon the Earth._

_Many of the Wolves went back to the Otherland, leaving Earth behind and taking their magic with them. Some stayed. Many of Mankind still feared them, so they hid, taking Man’s shape, living among them._

_In those days, there were Wolves who yet loved Mankind for their own sake, Some even taking husbands and wives from among them, raising families of their own. Men began to have the instinct of the Wolf, and the Wolf began to forget their four-legged shape, taking on that of Mankind until there was no true distinction between them... but for their magic._

_The scent of burning reached them long before it reached the noses of Men. The Wolf-kin, for there were very few true Wolves left, warned Mankind, warned them to hide away deep in the mountains, dig deep, there was fire in the air._

_As is the way of things, those who did not believe in the magic of the Wolves would not believe in what the Wolf-kin said. Said that they were crying out that the sky was falling - that there was nothing to worry about, with their trying to bring panic to everyone that the apocalypse was near._

_So it was that the Wolf-kin took their families, their friends, their allies - their animals, and food - and brought them to safety, just as the Great Fire Rain began to fall, turning the sky to ash._

_As it had after the Great Flood, the world was renewed. The people were one people, now, no longer hunting or hunted, no longer needing to hide. They were one people, and that is why today there are those with the instinct of the Alpha wolf, and of the bearer now called Omega, and the Beta - who has always been the right hand, protector and caretaker of all._

_The End_

 

* * *

Phil watched as Stewart traced some of the pictures on that last page with a small finger. They were people like any other people, the idea of their lineage being linked to wolves, of all things, somewhat less ridiculous to his mind than it had before he’d learned that vampires existed and he’d become the lone mortal among a pack of them.

He knew the legend, of course, everyone did. It was right up there with the Flood, Creation, Pandora’s Box.... A well-known legend that appeared in many cultures, like all the others.

Just a legend.

 

** * Long Ago, Long Before the Great Fire Rain * **

**It had been four years** since Phillip's father passed away and he'd become Man of the House. Four long and lonely years of taking care of his mother, making sure their properties were in order, and keeping track of how much was spent for what. What they could cut back on in order to make his father's money last as long as possible. Still, he was starting to make money of his own. Fairly decent money, at that. Maybe they could afford a few members of staff around the house again? He could definitely use someone in the shop with him.

Penning out a good handful of, essentially, help wanted flyers, he went through the town hanging them where he could and returned home to wait.

 **Clinton had been on his own** just about long as he could remember, travelling alongside caravans from one village to another, sometimes a town. As he got older, he mastered the bow, and found it far simpler to feed himself as he hid among Men after his family was gone. After his Mate’s death.

He could not read, but he asked a man what the papers hanging 'round said.

Which was why he ended up on the doorstep of a fine house, trying to figure if he should knock, or maybe bugger off to yet another town.

Coming around the corner of the house, Phillip drew up short when he saw the young man standing at his front door looking a bit uncertain. Cleaning his hands off on his shirt, he stepped forward and carefully cleared his throat. "May I help you?"

Clinton was grateful that he came up on his good side, and he turned to face him, head tilted a little to the side to compensate. "Word in town's you're lookin f'r help?"

Nodding, Phillip stepped forward and nodded in greeting. "I am, yes. Are you any good with your hands, by chance?"

“I can do just about anythin'," he said. "What you want? An' can I sleep in the stables?" a roof overhead would be a nice change.

"Well," Phillip started, glancing towards the house. "If you were to work inside, you'd have a room in the cellar. But, I could really use an assistant out in my shop? I need someone to make sure the fires keep burning hot while I'm working. There's a loft in my shop you can use for a place to sleep, if you'd like?"

Clinton nodded. "How long?" he asked, not worried about the pay so much as to how long he'd have something like a roof, and food. Simpler to hide, this way.

Phillip shook his head. "I'm not sure, at this point. For however long I can continue to afford to pay you for your work, I suppose."

"All I need's food and a place to stay. I c'n earn my keep." When he'd come into town a few days earlier, he found he liked it. It felt right, and strong. He wanted to stay, if he could.

Giving a small laugh, Phillip nodded and smiled just ever so slightly. "Well, food and a place to stay we can certainly provide in exchange for services." Holding his hand, he gave a short nod. "Phillip, and you are...?"

"Clinton," he shook his hand, his own broad, knobbly, and rough. "Lookin' forward to workin' for you." He felt a brief tingle, but mentally brushed it off.

Phillip turned and motioned for Clinton to follow him as he started for the back of the house again. "Where do you come from? I can't say as though I have ever seen you in town before. I thought I knew most of the folks around here."

"From South," the young man replied, glancing around as he followed him soundlessly. "I work until there is none, then I move on. I am here, now."

"Welcome, then." He smiled softly as they rounded the other corner of the house and came out by the shop that was there. Weaponry of all sorts and sizes were hanging from leather strips and glittering in the sunlight. "Here we are. My shop."

"You're a smith?" he asked, looking at the weaponry

Phillip blushed a bit and shrugged. "Much to my family's dismay, yes." He stepped into the main work area and pointed to the ladder that led a short distance up to a loft. "There's where you can stay, if you'd like. The roof's solid. I hammered out sheets of metal and attached them to the roof. It's better than thatch. Keeps the water out and heat in, so should stay good and warm until the warmer weather comes in again."

Clinton nodded. "And what would you like me to do, here?" he asked.

"Right. I'll need you to make sure I have plenty of coal and wood to burn. There's a stack of wood behind the shop here and there's a large pile of coal in the cellar that you can bring in. I'll also be needing you to make sure the fires burn hot enough." He paused to demonstrate what he'd be needing and how to go about doing so.

Clinton watched him with a piercing gaze, taking in everything from what he said, and what he showed, learning quickly how to help at the forge - as he hadn't done that particular job before. He nodded when the other man was done. "I c'n do it." he said with certainty.

"Good. Good. Well, I would say we can get started right away, but... I was actually on my way inside for lunch when you arrived." He glanced back to the house before looking to Clinton. "Would you care to come inside and join me?"

Clinton nodded. "Yes, thanks."

Nodding, Phillip started back out again, pleased with himself for having hired someone to help him, and had ended up not actually having to pay them! All the better. Leading him into the house, he gave Clinton a bit of a tour -- there really wasn't much TO see -- and explained that there was one room on the first floor, next to the kitchen, and that was his mother's room. She usually never ventured out. His own room was on the second floor, which was essentially the attic.

The way Clinton looked around showed that it was clearly far above anything he'd been allowed in before, and so clearly grateful was he. He paused at the threshold as he went in, but that could have been anything.

Leading him into the kitchen, Phillip nodded to the table. "Make yourself comfortable, while I figure out what we have. I think we have some beef left, yet."

"Thank you," Clinton said again, moving to take a seat. His stomach growled a little and he pretended not to hear it.

Phillip chuckled softly as he dug around to find what he could of food, setting a plate out with some bread already on it for Clinton to start with. "To hold you over until I find the beef."

" _Thank you_ ," Clinton said, setting to the bread with large bites, and eating quickly as he could.

It only took Phillip another few minutes to finally find the smoked beef and layer it out onto another plate. He filled two glasses with whatever wine was on hand, and passed it off to Clinton before setting his own down along with the plate of meat. "Help yourself."

The bread was already gone, and he reached for a piece of the meat, cramming it into his mouth with another “thankyou”.

Honestly, Phillip watched him with great interest. "You haven't eaten much recently, have you?"

Clinton drank some of the wine to swallow it down, nodding as he grabbed another piece of the beef, he knew he should keep it to the two or he'd be kicked out, but it'd been a long week. There were only a few squirrels to be found on his way between towns, and he hadn't found work in this one until now.

Phillip pushed the plate closer to Clinton, nodding to it. "You're welcome to however much you'd like. Don't starve yourself."

Clinton reached for another piece, the paused before touching it, looking at Phillip with a piercing gaze. "You're sure?"

"Yes." Phillip nodded. "You look like you could use it more than I do. Please. I'm very sure."

Clinton gave him a sharp-toothed grin and set to devouring as much as his empty stomach could handle, honestly pouting at the plate when he realised he couldn't eat the last two slices.

Chuckling, Phillip rested his elbow on the table, his chin on his hand. "No more room?"

"Guess not," Clinton sighed. "Thanks though," he said, yet again. "Really. Sir, if you wanna give me food like this for working for you, you've got me for a lifetime." He didn't state whose.

Again, Phillip chuckled and smiled, pushing himself away from the table and picking up the last two slices to eat for himself. "Well, seeing as how my mother and I generally allow the help to have what we're eating, I suppose you will get food like this for working for me."

Clinton looked at him wide-eyed. "Food like that, you can work me to exhaustion."

"Oh, I'd really rather not do that." Phillip shook his head, downed the rest of his wine and set the things in the basin to be washed later. "Do you think you'd be able to work now, though? After all that?"

Clinton grinned. "I work great on an empty stomach. I work better when I'm full." He finished his own wine, vowing to himself to be the best forge-boy ever existed.

Returning the bright smile, Phillip nodded and started back out of the house. "Well then, let's get started. I have some arrowheads I need to get working on."

Clinton grinned hugely. "Arrow heads?" he moved to follow.

"I make the tips for an archer. He apparently won't buy them from anyone else." His chest puffed a bit with pride. "Says mine are the best and finest he's even seen."

"I wanna see 'em," Clinton said, keeping up with him.

"They're what I'm going to be working on, so you'll be seeing quite a few of them." Pausing his steps for a moment, he turned to look at Clinton again, head tilted to the side in thought. "Actually, I should be able to get them all finished in time, if you know anything about sharpening things?"

Clinton nodded. "I'm real good at sharpening things," he said, not explaining farther. He’d left his things behind a rock at the edge of town, he'd go get them later when he was on his own.

"Then if you'll sharpen them for me, that would be fantastic." Phillip would make sure Clinton got at least a portion of the payment for them. If nothing else then for him to have some money to buy things for himself if he were to go into town.

"I can do that," he said with a nod. "You got a whetting stone, or do I gotta use the wheel?" He had his own stones in his sack, but it did best to ask.

"Both," Phillip stepped back out into the sun, squinting for a moment at the brightness. "Whichever you're more comfortable using, you're welcome to them. I usually use the stone. Takes longer, but I have less chance scraping off a few layers of skin that way as well."

"Stone's best for arrowheads, you get a sharper edge," Clinton said.

Phillip nodded. "I've found that out, yeah. A straighter edge, too. Better control that way."

"Yessir," Clinton nodded.

Getting out to the shop again, Phillip turned his head to glance back at Clinton with a small smile. "How old are you, Clinton?"

"Plenty old enough I gotta shave to keep my face clean," Clinton answered. Thing was, he didn't really know. He knew he was grown, pretty much.

Laughing out, Phillip nodded and turned his attention back to the forge. "Good answer. Then in that case, call me Phillip. Sir makes me feel old. And I'm hardly even twenty. Too young to be feeling old yet, thank you very much."

"That's takin' liberties," Clinton said, not sure what to think of that. "You don't want me callin' you sir or boss?" he asked just to be sure.

Phillip shook his head. "I'd prefer if you didn't. But I can't force you to call me one or the other."

"Hey, you're feeding me, Phillip - I ain't gonna complain."

Grinning, Phillip set about to ready things for the arrowheads. He had most of the order made and ready, just needed about twenty five more to go and he'd be all done. "I'll pass them to you when they're ready to be sharpened. And then you can put them on that leather cloth over there on the table when you're done with them."

"Yes," Clinton nodded, moving to stoke up the flames for him first, just as he'd been shown. The muscles of his arms shifted visibly under his snug tunic.

Phillip tilted his head a bit to watch. Of course he was purely just watching to make sure things were done right, and not because of the way the tunic pulled and stretched across various muscles. Nope. Not at all.

Clinton even went far enough to make sure any else would be near to hand so he could do both that job and the sharpening for Phillip.

Snapping out of it, Phillip gave a nod of approval before picking up his heavy leather gloves to slip on and get to work. "Thank you kindly, Clinton."

Welcome, Phillip." He replied, before setting to work on finishing the edges of one arrowhead left over from yesterday, only wincing slightly.

Once the pair found their rhythm and discovered how the other worked, and how quickly, Phillip found himself actually enjoying his work all the more. It wasn't long at all before the pair were finishing within seconds of each other and starting on the new one. Which Phillip really enjoyed all the more.

Which was of course when the drifter started singing as he worked, foreign songs with a steady rhythm Phillip could work to, sliding up and down along the scale in the melody.

The songs themselves were intriguing to Phil, the words so strange and yet melodic to him. But it was Clinton's voice that was making him take pause every so often and just listen. Finally stopping in order to get a drink and rest for a moment, Phillip passed the ladle off to Clint, nodding to the bucket of clear, clean water sitting near enough the forge not to get icy but still stay mostly cool. "You have a very nice voice."

"I like singin'," Clinton said. "Is it a problem?" he asked, getting a long drink, then another two.

Phillip shook his head, smiling as he leaned against one of the wooden beams keeping the roof from coming down. "Not at all. You're very good at it."

"Songs are a good way to remember things," he said with a shrug.

"So I've heard." Phillip reached for the ladle again to get another drink, shaking his head a little sadly. "I'm not much of a singer."

"Everyone can sing, si- Phillip," Clinton replied. "Long's you can carry a tune.”

Sipping down more water, he shook his head again, a playful little smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. "I have it on good authority that I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a handle."

"What about with a lid nailed on?" Clinton teased with a grin, going back to working on sharpening the arrowheads with reddened hands.

Phillip chuckled, turning to watch Clinton for a minute before returning to his own work. "It's very doubtful. I think I'll leave the singing to you, my friend."

Clinton's smile had his eyes crinkling in mirth. "As you wish."

Smiling fondly, Phillip turned his eyes back to the forge. Just a handful more to go and they'd be done and ready for pick up in the morning. With any luck, he'd get a bonus for actually having them all finished and on time. The guy they were for was kind of a dick, even if he did sing the praises of Phillip's handiwork.

"These really are amazing," Clinton said after a little while. Each head he checked for balance, and every single one was perfectly so. "I've never seen such beautiful work."

A faint blush worked its way up Phillip's cheeks and over the tips of his ears, and he was glad his face was sweaty and dirty so it wasn't so completely obvious. "Thank you. I've spent quite a while practicing. And these aren't the first heads I've made for this man."

"They have perfect balance. On the right shaft, they'd almost be magic."

"I don't know about that, but I'm sure they must be nice to see go flying through the air." Tilting his head a little, he side glanced to Clinton. "Are you an archer?"

"All my life," Give or take. All the life he led now, anyway. "Folks say a bow's cowardly, but there's no accidents like with a blade. Every shot has intent. You gotta take responsibility for every hit."

A sparkle appeared in Phillip's eyes as he looks at Clinton and grinned a little goofily. "I think archers are incredible." And, okay, he might sound a little like a moonstruck idiot, but it was true. "The concentration and strength required just to even nock the arrow and pull the string back is amazing. And to be able to hit a target -- not to mention a moving one at that -- is just...." He trailed off, the blush finally evident on his face as he ducked his head to look back to the forge. "Archers are perhaps the most underrated warriors ever."

Clinton watched him a moment, then nodded, and grinned. "Thank you," he said, before getting back to sharpening the heads.

Phillip smiled softly. He stayed quiet for a few moments longer, before glancing off to the side where a pile of rejected arrowheads was sitting. Maybe he could? "If you have a bow... I have these ones over here that didn't quite work out right. I was going to just melt them down and make something else out of them... but I think I could try to rework them and fix them up enough to be used. It wouldn't be quite as strong, but... you're welcome to them if you think you'll be able to use them."

"You can use 'em for money," Clinton pointed out. "If you melt 'em down."

Phillip gave a small shrug. "True. I suppose."

Clinton finished up the last of the arrowheads he was working with, rubbing his fingertips beneath the table then standing to stretch.

The last of the little glittering silver heads set on the leather rag, with the sun just starting to creep down low behind the western horizon, Phillip stretched his own arms and back slowly. "Well... you survived the first day. Will you be staying, or will I be looking for a new assistant tomorrow?" He asked, a playful little smile on his face.

"I'll stay," Clinton said. "I gotta go get my stuff, but you said I can sleep in the loft?" he clarified.

"Yes. It should be fairly comfortable for you up there." A small blush crept up over his cheeks again as he shrugged. "I sleep up there in the summers so... it's a decent enough place to stay."

"It'll help me be here on time in the morning, too. I should hear you come in."

"That's very true." Phillip glanced about for a moment before looking back to Clinton. "Supper should be in the next couple of hours. You're welcome to join us. If you'd like."

"I would, if that's alright. Just before sunset?" he asked.

Nodding again, Phillip patted Clinton's shoulder. "That sounds just about right. I'll leave you to get settled."

"Thank you, Phillip," Clinton said it like one might say boss, or sir.

With a small, almost shy, smile in place (because yes, Clinton was very much attractive and Phillip wasn't about to lie about that... he just wasn't going to advertise his attraction, much), he nodded and started to slip out. "I will see you at supper, Clinton." Without another word, he moved back out into the open air and started back to the house to get supper prepared.

Clinton went about cleaning up and banking the fire. When he went to gather up his own weapons where he'd left them, he scrubbed his hands in the creek, no matter how cold, to soothe the sting. He would have to find some gloves to work with if he was going to be handling the product as well as keeping the forge heated. He stripped some willow bark off a nearby tree, wrapping his fingers with it for the trek back to the forge. He took a nap high in the loft, and woke when the light stopped hitting his eyes.

Then, it was back to the home of Phillip and his mother for something to eat, discarding the willowbark on the way.

 

* * *

**Phillip was standing in the kitchen** , the stove glowing hot. The room was filled with the scent of rosemary and cooked meat and potatoes. A woman sat at the table, an absent look on her young face, shawl wrapped securely around her shoulders. She barely looked old enough to have a son Phillip's age. Phillip was talking to her casually, discussing his day and asking about hers, even though it was obvious the woman hadn't given any sort of response in quite some time.

Clinton stood in the doorway a long while, watching her. He could tell she'd been Touched, somehow. Something was broken. Maybe he could fix it, if he could find out what had happened.

Unaware of Clinton's presence, Phillip turned to check on his mother and startled a bit at the man standing there. Blinking in surprise, he smiled and motioned him in. "Clinton. Come in, please." He came around the table, waving to a spot for him to sit that was across from another empty chair.

"Phillip," he nodded to him. "Ma'am," he said, sitting down. He watched her with gentle curiosity. "Pleased to meet you," he said carefully, that same lilt from the other-language song in his words.

A sad little smile crossed Phillip's face as he moved past his mother, dropping a kiss to her head lightly as he went by to fetch the plates. "Mama, this is Clinton. He's my new assistant I told you about. I think he's going to work out well, don't you?"

The woman continued to stare absently in front of her, making absolutely no attempt to respond or to greet Clinton in return.

Clinton spoke to her, knowing she was in there somewhere, if in hiding. "Your son has been kind enough to hire me for food and shelter. He's very kind," he said, "Thank you for raising him to be so." He held his hand out to her.

Still she made no attempt to respond, except maybe for a small twitch of her fingers from the hand that was resting on the table.

Phillip licked his lips and shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll have to forgive my mother, she's been ill. Doesn't speak much."

"It's alright. She doesn't need to speak to hear." Clinton reached forward and gently lay his hand over the hand that had twitched, feeling warmth and healing leech through him without even forcing himself to send it on its way. It'd been a long time since someone had needed it so. He could tell, however, that it wouldn't be an immediate change. It would take time. Clinton would be sure to give that time. He could tell she was kind, and hurt, and lost. He could also tell that she was filled with love for her son, who spoke to her and cared for her even when she was lost to catatonia.

Turning back from the stove, Phillip's smile softened as he set the plates of food down before gathering up the wine to pour for supper as well. "Don't let it get cold. Dig in." His smile slightly faltered as he cut his mother's food into very small, manageable pieces. She may not respond to a whole lot, but she'd been having a good day so far.  Between his own bites, Phillip gently fed her.

Clinton let her go, already mentally making a plan to give her the Touch as often as he could. It was the least he could do. He wondered if his own injury wa part of why the power slipped from him so quickly, moreso than it had the few times he'd used it in the past. He ate as he had that afternoon, quickly and gratefully.

Phillip was a bit more subdued with his eating, though he did have to smile and chuckle as he nudged the serving plates closer to Clinton in a silent offering for more. "She won't mind if you have her other helping." He said softly, glancing to the fact she'd only just barely eaten a few pieces of meat before she'd refused any more.

"It's alright," Clinton said, finishing his up.

Nodding, Phillip finished up his own meal and looked to his mother's plate, which was still barely touched. He motioned to it as he stood and carefully took her arm in his hand. "Excuse us for a moment, please?" He asked, standing her up and moving them out of the kitchen, into the bedroom just outside it, where his mother resided.

Clinton stood and carefully wrapped up the food for the icebox.

When Phillip returned a few minutes later, there was a small smile on his face as he ducked his head slightly. "Thank you, Clinton," he said softly, brushing by him on his way to pour hot water into the wash basin.

"Welcome. If it's okay, I'm going to head back," he said.

"That's fine. You're welcome to join me for breakfast before we start tomorrow."

"When?" Clinton asked, pausing near the door.

Phillip gave a small shrug. "I can come wake you when it's ready. Easier than trying to determine a time."

Clinton shook his head quickly. "I'll come by at dawn, if there's anything left over."

Laughing softly, Phillip nodded. "If you come by at dawn, you can help me cook it. Though, you'll be the one having to rouse me out of bed." There was a playful smile on his face, twinkling in his eyes. "Dawn will be fine, if you want to come in then."

"I won't wake you up, but.. I think that would be better."

His head tilted a bit to the side as he looked his new assistant over before giving a nod. "Alright... that's fine, then."

"Lovely," Clinton replied with a small nod. "I shall see you tomorrow."

"Yes. Sleep well." Phillip turned his attention back to washing what had been used to make supper with. "Goodnight, Clinton."

"Goodnight, Phillip."

Clinton let himself out and went back to the forge, climbing into the loft with his things. He set them aside to be sure they wouldn't fall, then opened the shutter to let in the moonlight. He would have to find something to protect his hands, but in the meantime, despite the chill of letting in the moonlight, he slept easily, curled up in the hay, closing bright eyes. He didn't take up much space, in the end.

Phillip washed the supper dishes, made sure things were set out to be used for breakfast in the morning, and made his way into his mother's room to sit with her for awhile, reading to her as she stared distantly out the window before putting her to bed and making his way to his attic bedroom. He lay, staring out his own window, at the forge behind the house, cast in a beautiful blue-silver glow. When sleep finally did come for him, the moon had crept far across the sky and was beginning to dip to the west heavily. A few scant hours of sleep would be better than none.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Clinton slipped into the home** before dawn, silent as a shadow. He slipped into Phillip's mother's room, and knelt beside her bed, placing one hand on her forehead. He closed his eyes as he felt his magic instinctively searching out anything Wrong; then weaken the wrongness, and its hold. When dawn began to pink the sky, he drew away silently and slipped back out to sit on the stoop and soak in what sun he could.

When the light finally started to peek into Phillip's window, falling across his face, the young man groaned but forced himself out of bed. There were things that needed to be done yet, that morning, and he was expecting a customer to come pick up the arrow heads. He had to be awake for that. Slipping down the stairs quietly, he shuffled his way into the kitchen to make breakfast, his eyes still bleary and barely open, dark hair flying in all directions... forgetting for the moment that Clinton would be joining him for breakfast.

Blinking in surprise at a knock on the door, Phillip turned to stare at it questioningly, before his eyes went wide and he looked down at himself. _Oh dear._

Cheeks and ears bright red, he moved to open the door enough to peek his head again and duck a bit in embarrassment. "Clinton... uhm... come in. I... give me just a second to run back upstairs and get a bit more presentable... but, please, come in."

Giving him an amused look, he answered, "I can come back later if you want, sir." 

Ears flushing all the more, Phillip shook his head. "No, no... it's alright. Please make yourself at home. Breakfast should be ready shortly."

"Thank you," he said, giving the door a look.

Phillip nodded and stepped aside, hiding behind the door as best as possible. "You're welcome. I-I’ll be back down in a moment."

Clinton's smile was nothing short of amusement, but he respectfully glanced away to make him more comfortable.

Once the door shut, Phillip darted up the stairs to his room. He quickly changed shirts and pulled on a pair of pants, along with his boots, before he smoothed his hair back down into place and took a deep breath. He'd gotten out of familiarity with having other people present, especially in the mornings. His mother never left her room in the morning, so he'd stopped caring how he looked when he came down to make breakfast.

Clinton got himself some water to drink from the bucket, before sitting at the table with a quiet yawn.

When he came back down, fully dressed and presentable this time, Phillip gave a small smile and slipped to the stove. "I hope an egg and toast is alright?"

Clinton nodded. "That sounds good."

Phillip worked quietly to get breakfast ready, set a plate with food down in front of Clinton and turned back to ready his own. "Was the loft comfortable enough?"

The Other grinned. "It was very comfortable. Thank you, again."

"Good. Stay warm enough? It got a little on the cold side last night."

"The straw was very warm."

Nodding quietly, Phillip set his own plate down at the table and set in to eat, forcing himself to wake up all the more.

Clinton didn't have any trouble finishing off his meal, and remained silent and still, looking out the window in thought.

Phillip glanced up from his own plate and regarded Clinton for a moment. "...would you like something more to eat?"

"No thank you, Between yesterday and today, I'm not used to being this full," he said candidly.

"Ah, well..." he glanced back down to his plate, finished off his own breakfast, and gave a nod. "Well, we should probably get out to the forge, then, if you're done."

Clinton nodded, moving to stand and take his plate. He rinsed it from the bucket and set it to dry. "You wouldn't happen to have gloves I could use?"

Standing, Phillip set his own plate in the bucket and nodded. "I do have a spare set of leather ones, you can use."

"Thank you. I.." he glanced at his raw hands. "Took a fall on the way back last night." That was a believable lie.

"I'll get them for you once we get out there. Anything else you'll need?"

"No," he said. "I'm ready to work."

"Then let's." Phillip's smile was soft but bright as he started back for the front door. The sun was glistening off the grass as they made their way around the house. He was expecting his customer any time now. A customer who would certainly pay well enough to keep his forge stocked well, and their account softly padded.

Clinton followed in his wake, breathing in the clear air and smiling slightly to himself. The energy in the house when he left was less worrisome than it'd been the first time he'd arrived. Perhaps things would start looking up for the kind man who'd given him work.

Getting to the forge, Phillip shuffled some things around until he found a pair of heavy leather gloves and handed them off to Clinton. "They never quite fit my hands right, hopefully they'll be fine for you, though." He offered a small smile, turning to look at the arrowheads. "If you would, just give those a quick shine for me? Sir Chisholm should be here within the hour to retrieve them."

Clinton ducked his head and nodded, putting the gloves on and getting the polish. Arrow heads didn't need to be pretty, or shiny, to do their job - they needed to be balanced, and preferably sharp. But Phillip's arrow heads were all, and that fascinated Clinton.

Phillip worked to get everything started up and a new rod of iron burning hot in the fire to work into a sword. He stole a glance to Clinton every so often, occasionally trying awkwardly to start up a conversation, though usually having it just fall flat instead. Which was fine.

 **A little after an hour** working in the forge shop, a large, looming shadow filled the door, blocking out the light and causing Phillip to stop what he was doing and look over. "Sir Chisholm! Hello!" The man was a mountain that towered over Phillip, with enough bulk to take up half the room just by stepping into it. "I have your order ready, Sir. Just like you asked. These are sharp enough to bone, I assure you. And the tips are such that they can find their way into--"

"They'll do. I'll take two more by next week." The man held his hand out for the wrap the arrow heads were in.

"...Two? Just two more hea--"

"Hundred."

Phillip's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but he nodded and swallowed quickly.

"Unless you think you cannot do it?"

"N-no. No Sir. I can do it. Two hundred heads by next week. I'll have them for you by sunrise Monday."

"Good. I'll see your payment finds you well. Good day." Without another word, Chisholm dropped a hefty leather pouch onto the table, turned, and walked out.

Clinton had remained silent in the shadows the entire time, and decided he didn't like the man one bit, even if he was paying Phillip well (if he _was_ paying him well). He didn't like how intimidating, and big, he was. He didn't like that he wanted so many heads of Silver.

Once the man was gone, Phillip took a deep breath and sagged to sit on the bench near the forge. Two hundred of those damn little things? Where was he going to come up with the silver needed for those? Granted, it didn't need to be much, but still. Did the man think it grew on trees or something? It didn't matter. He'd find a way to do it. He had to. Pushing himself back up, he grabbed the bag and tossed it gently in the air. Yep, felt about right. He'd count it later. "Uhm... I suppose we have our work cut out for us the next few days."

"Why do you let him make demands," Clinton stated, rather than asked. "If he wishes you to make him things, he cannot make demands of an ore that is not simple to come by."

Phillip looked back down to the pouch again and shrugged. "That's why he pays me well, I think. Extra silver if need be. I'll come up with the silver."

"Why does he want silver heads, iron and steel work."

"He likes the way they look, I suppose." He shrugged and set the pouch back down, moving to pick up his own gloves to set to work on the sword again.

Clinton said nothing more after that, keeping the forge hot, clearing away the ashes, and replenishing the wood as needed.

Staying quiet while he worked, Phillip ran through plans and ideas on how to get everything done in time. He had two orders that had been set back a day or so already in order for Sir Chisholm's order to be finished in time. Now with asking for two hundred, he would have to push something back again.

At least he had Clinton to help him.

At first when Clinton had looked at the beautiful heads, gently sharpening, then polishing them despite the burn - he thought perhaps this was someone who used a bow for sport, wanted something glinting and pretty to show off. It was entirely possible this was still the case.

However, wanting two hundred _more_ pointed at something far more sinister, at least as far as Clinton was concerned. He thought perhaps he should leave the region once he'd finished helping Phillip's mother. The man would survive without him, beautiful as he is.

 **Phillip worked quietly** until the sun was high in the sky. Covered in sweat and grime, he swiped at his forehead and set the sword aside to be finished later that day. "It's midday. I should see if my mother is ready for a meal." He said quietly, glancing off towards the house. "You're welcome to join... or you can take a coin from the bag and go into town to the tavern if you'd rather."

"I don't want to bother all of your time with your mother. If I may take the coin and go to town, I think that would be better. This time."

Looking over to him, Phillip nodded. "Of course." He dipped into the bag and pulled a small coin from within, handing it off to Clinton with a polite smile. "Enjoy. I will see you when you return." He kept his tone level and professional. After all, an assistant his age did not a friend he automatically make.

He took the coin, putting it in the empty pouch at his belt. "Thank you. I will try not to tarry too long." He needed to learn the atmosphere of the town a bit better than he had the past few days.

"You needn't hurry," Phillip shook his head and patted Clinton's shoulder. "Enjoy your meal and the weather while it's still nice." With another small smile, Phillip slipped from the shop and started back for the house to sit with his mother and try to get her to eat a little bit.

Clinton watched him, trying to decide whether the smith knew what his weapons could be used for, or if he was ignorant. Innocent. He turned and went into town, following his nose to the pub for some meat, cheese, and beer.

Phillip spent his midday break making a small meal for himself and his mother, the pair sitting in her room at the window to eat and Phillip chatting away as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Which by that point, it was. He was busy looking at his own plate when his mother's fingers twitched and made slow, uncertain pawing like motions.

When their plates were clean, or mostly cleaned rather, He dropped a kiss to his mother's head, promised to return at supper time, and made his way back to the forge to set back to work on the sword.

 **Of course.** Of COURSE the people in the town were massive gossips, and there were tales of faerie living nearby, of changelings, of Wolves. This town was steeped in lore, and not one of them knew it to be any truer than tales to tell each other to ease the boredom. Clinton would need to be careful. It was clear at least one of the area's men knew them for truths.

He returned to the forge with a full stomach, and slipped the gloves on immediately, having just gotten the furnace to its best heat when Phillip came back.

Phillip blinked in surprise when he saw Clinton was already there and working the fire back up to the right temp. "You're back sooner than I would have expected. Did you eat at all?"

"I ate enough," he answered. "Do you like fireside stories, Phillip?"

A soft huff of a laugh escaped him as he shook his head. "I don't often hear them. The last one I had heard was many years ago."

"What was it about?" he asked, sweeping the dust away so it wouldn't contaminate the iron sword Phillip was working on.

He shook his head, frowning a bit in thought, as he put his own gloves back on. "I can't remember much really. My father was the one to tell me it when I was young." He thought for a moment and shrugged. "I believe it had something to do with the wolves that roamed our property. He claimed they were guardians, protecting our family."

"I like that story," Clinton said. "Better than the ones they tell in the village," he commented, as something about his demeanour suddenly completely changed.

Phillip shrugged again, picking the sword up to stuff back into the fire. "It was a good story, I suppose. But, it's all it was. A story. There haven't been wolves on our property for years. Let alone the Wolves he weaved stories of."

Clinton wondered if his kindred had left when those of that big man had arrived. "What would happen if you didn't work silver arrowheads?"

"Nothing, really. I don't think. I have others who request differently. But none who pay as well as Sir Chisholm."

"The work he gives you forces you to delay your other work, though," Clinton pointed out.

"Everything will be finished. Have faith." He glanced back up to Clinton, giving a small smile before moving the red hot iron off to the anvil to hammer away at quickly before it cooled too much.

Phillip's family had once been Protected. Clinton would see to it that they were, once more. He would be careful, but he would succeed.

"We will finish this sword today so it's ready for pick up tomorrow afternoon. From there we'll get started on the armor order so I have something to show when its owner arrives to see what I have done, then we'll get to work on Sir Chisholm's arrow heads. I have the cast all ready for them, just need the melted ores to fill them with."

Clinton nodded, "As you wish," he said, getting back to work to make sure Phillip had a steady flame to work with.

 **Phillip worked quickly** but quietly to finish the sword, using careful strokes of the hand to inscribe it with the commissioner's request for his family's motto before moving on to the armor. Armor was not something he excelled at, but, it was a special order -- why he'd been chosen for the job, he didn't know -- for the wealthiest man in the countryside, so who was he to say no he couldn't do them?

Clinton set about sharpening the sword, testing its cut against the grain of the glove as he worked, watched Phillip work, kept the forge hot. By the day's end he was exhausted.

By the end of the day, Phillip and Clinton had the sword finished, the armor well started, and about twenty-five of the arrow heads ready to go. Turning to Clint, he gave the other man a pat on the shoulder once more and nodded. "I do believe we accomplished quite a bit today, Clinton. What do you think?"

"We have, indeed," he replied with a small smile and a nod.

"Would you care to get cleaned up and join us for supper again, tonight?"

"Yes," he said with a small smile. He would like to check on Phillip's mother, touch her hand, come back before dawn and give her all he could, keep watch careful and quiet.

This family was once Protected. That was all he needed to know about them.

Smiling in return, Phillip motioned off behind the forge. "There's a stream just down from here you're welcome to wash up in. Supper should be ready in a hour or so. I will see you then."

"See you," Clinton said, heading off in that direction to clean up before supper.

Phillip made supper as quickly as he could. Nothing fantastic, bread, some meat, and radishes from a neighbor's garden, and wine. Still, it was hearty and fulfilling, just what the three of them required. It would be ready by the time Clinton returned from washing up.

He returned when he was told to, thick hair still damp, clothes sticking to his body here and there. He knocked.

Just as before, Phillip let him in with a small smile and led the way to the kitchen. "You needn't knock. It's alright to just come in if you'd like."

"’Tis polite," he said. He looked to Phillip's mother, taking her hand between his own. "Hello, again," he said softly, feeling more power leech out into her, to join what little was left over from that morning's inner battle. Magic could be a beautiful thing, when its instinct was meant to heal.

The woman's fingers twitched in Clinton's, almost an attempt to squeeze in return to his touch.

Phillip set the plates with food down to the table and gave a small nod. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be one to argue with politeness. Please, help yourself."

He smiled softly. "It is good to see you well, ma'am." He let go her hand and sat in the seat he had last night. "Thank you," he said, looking to Phillip before serving himself some of the meat and cheese.

As they ate, Phillip told his mother of their day and all they'd gotten done. He also, finally, asked why Clinton had wanted to know about the fireside stories.

"They were telling tales at the pub when I was there for lunch. They spoke of Fae and Wolves as enemies, rather than friends. I didn't much like them."

"Ah, well... as I said, I don't know many of them, and my belief that they could be true to begin with is slim. Particularly the wolves guarding our property. Fables my father told to keep me from being worried all the time."

"Good man," Clinton said - he would have to have been, to warrant Protection. "Whether true or not, I much prefer your telling."

From Phillip's side, his mother made a very quiet sound somewhere in the back of her throat. A very struggled attempt at words that ultimately came just a small noise which Phillip mistook as a tickled throat requiring liquids. "I'm sorry, Mama. I've not given you anything to drink, have I?" He held the small glass to her lips and watched carefully as she swallowed it down.

Clinton watched them. _It will be okay. I promise,_ he thought, eyes briefly gold. A trick of the light, perhaps.

Setting the glass back down, Phillip pressed a kiss to his mother's head gently before looking back to Clinton. "What stories do you have to tell in which the fae and wolves aren't the enemy?"

"My family taught me that the Wolves are like guardians of both magic, and people touched by it. To guard those who spent a little more time with the Fae than they should, or to Fae who have spent a little too much time with people. That if a person is lucky, a Wolf will find them, and keep their family in good health and from any harm." He shrugged. "I prefer that telling."

Phillip tilted his head, looking at Clinton curiously for a moment before huffing and shaking the thoughts away. "That sounds very much like the stories my father would tell."

Clinton smiled. He didn't tell them that a Wolf should find themself lucky if they found a family to protect. "They are good stories."

Humming thoughtfully, Phillip nodded, clearing his plate of his supper. "They're certainly stories, alright. Please excuse me for a moment?" Standing, he squeezed his mother's shoulder before slipping from the kitchen, leaving the other man and his mother in the quiet.

Once he was clear from the room, his mother's fingers twitched again, another quiet sound escaping her as her eyes focused in on Clinton intently.

Clinton looked back and put one hand over hers. "I won't hurt you," he promised. "I'm here to help." He didn't even have to focus for the magical energy to do its duty. He thought about why this family was left unprotected, when clearly one needed his kind so much. They wouldn't leave, not willingly - they always stayed for as long as they were needed. He had a feeling it had to do with the big man and his silver arrows.

Her fingers twitched again against Clinton's hand, gentle pressure against his palm. Her eyes held no fear of him, though they weren't able to express much more than that.

"I will return when the moon is high," he promised, smiling softly. "A Wolf's come back."

Again, pressure was put to his palm, as if acknowledging this and the fact he was a Wolf in Man’s clothing, so to speak. Very faintly, a smile seemed to try at the corner of her mouth before disappearing, and Phillip returned to the room. "Clinton? Would you care for any more supper?" He asked, trying to sound as he regularly did and not as if he'd just spent the past few minutes berating, and mentally cursing, his father in his thoughts.

Having sat back and freed her hand with a small squeeze while Phillip came in, Clinton shook his head. "It was very good, thank you."

Nodding, Phillip glanced to the plates and then back to his mother. "We'll finish this tomorrow for lunch, I think." He smiled, setting the plate into the small iron oven before helping her to stand again. "I will see you in the morning, Clinton."

"Of course." Clinton nodded his thanks and slipped out of the home to get what sleep he may before returning.

Phillip helped his mother to her room, got her settled for the night and slowly made his trek back up to his room, praying that sleep came for him sooner this night than it did the night before.

* * *

**Clinton slept half submerged** in the straw for a little while, until the light of the moon crossed over him. He stretched, shaking off the straw and headed down the ladder, quietly slipping through the shadows back to Phillip's home. He slipped inside without a sound and moved to sit on the floor beside the mother's bed, resting one hand on her brow, taking her hand in his. "Dream well, kind mother," he whispered, feeling his magic shift between them once more. "I may only be one, but one will be enough."

Her fingers twitched, eyebrows slightly scrunched and lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks. Lips parting, she whimpered softly, "...ill...ip..."

"Shhh," Clinton whispered. "I vow to overwatch you both."

She whimpered again, softly, her fingers lifting just a bit higher off the bed before she settled and drifted back to a peaceful sleep.

Clinton wondered just how long she'd been left to her own devices, to be so tightly imprisoned within herself. He stayed until the morning twilight, before slipping away to sit outside and doze by the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**When Phillip finally awoke** in the morning, he dressed himself quickly and made his way down to check the door, startling a bit when he found Clinton asleep near it. "Did you forget your way back to the forge?" he asked teasingly, eyebrow quirked in amusement as he looked down to him.

Clinton smiled slightly, only just catching himself. "I woke early and thought I'd wait. I wasn't done sleeping, I think," he said, rising to his feet.

Chuckling softly, Phillip reached out to clap his shoulder gently. "Come inside. Have some breakfast."

Clinton was surprised to feel some magic leave him, at the contact. Part of Phillip's hand must have hit skin. Huh. He needed something - but it would take Clinton more than a split second to realise just what sort of magic fled him to help. "I can eat just about anything," he said, following him inside. He shrugged it off, perhaps Phillip simply hadn't slept well that night.

"That's encouraging. I'm afraid we're getting a bit low at the moment, so 'anything' means you won't object to some bread, butter, and possibly some cream?"

He could stomach it. He'd go hunting before coming over tonight. "Yes. Just a bit."

Phillip sighed and ran a hand through his hair as they made their way to the kitchen. "I shall have to go into town this afternoon. We don't exactly have anything to make for lunch or supper tonight." He frowned in thought, eyes glancing back to his mother's door.

"I could stay with your mother, if you like. So she isn't left alone?" He'd noticed how close the forge was to the home.

Looking back to Clinton in surprise, his face lit up a bit brighter than it'd been the past few days. "You'd..." Phillip smiled, giving a nod. "Thank you. I won't be long."

"Don't rush. I know you need to find more silver for..." he pressed his lips together. "Your client," he said, finding the least horrid thing to say.

Phillip nodded, remembering how he'd have to go about and pay a hefty fee to the jeweler in order to get the silver he would need for the arrowheads. "Very true. Still, I'll try not to be gone long. I don't think she will be of any trouble... she doesn't usually leave her room until it's time for supper."

"I think she's aware of more than it seems," Clinton said. "Perhaps I'll sing to her, or tell her stories from where I lived when I was young.

Setting the bread and butter on the table, he moved to the small ice box to pull the bottle of cream out and set it down along with a glass. "Where is it that you are from?"

"South," Clinton answered, just as he had the other day. He didn't offer more than that.

"Ah... yes... right...." Phillip let the matter fall. Setting himself down at the table, he rubbed at his eyes blearily before picking up a chunk of bread to munch on.

Clinton ate quietly then spoke. "Are you not sleeping well?"

Glancing up, brows raised, he looked to Clinton questioningly. "Sleep hasn't been easy coming in quite some time." He took another bite of bread and shook his head. "I will be fine, once I get moving again."

Clinton nodded and said none more. He finished his meal and got some water.

Rubbing at his face once again, Phillip took a deep breath and pushed himself up from the table. "If you're finished, we should get to work." He wanted to get as much taken care of before needing to go into town for food and supplies.

"Yessir," Clinton said, preceding him out this time to get the forge good and hot.

Phillip stopped off to bid his mother good morning before he made his way out to the forge, making one last stop along the way to give his head a good dunking in the rain bucket. Hair sopping wet and droplets rolling down his cheeks, he stepped into the shop. "Right then... let's get going."

Clinton grinned at him, gloves already on his hands. He'd gotten the forge good and hot, and was working on sharpening the arrowheads. No need to penalise Phillip for something he didn't know.

He might have to track down the buyer though, one day. Better with a pack, but he had no pack.

Lone.

The pair worked all through the morning and to midday, pausing only when a young lady and her younger brother approached to have Phillip mend a small iron box for them -- the young lady politely, but obviously, attempted to gain Phillip's attention and affections, though the young smith showed no signs of acknowledging either.

 **When mid day finally arrived** , he stretched his back and sighed heavily. "I should head into town now. Is there anything in particular you'd wish for supper tonight? You're offering to stay to care for a near perfect stranger, fixing you a meal of your choosing seems a fitting thanks."

"I like meats," he shrugged. "But really, I can eat just about anything, whatever works best for you and your ma."

"Meat you shall have." Smiling a bit, Phillip removed his gloves and heavy apron. "I will return soon."

"I'll go check in at the house," Clinton said, taking off the gloves and rinsing his hands at the pump halfway between, then slipping inside to check on Mother.

* * *

**Phillip made his way** into town, gathering up the things he’d need in order to complete the arrow heads, paid a boy to have his groceries delivered back to his home, and set about in search of a nice bit of meat to prepare for Clinton that night in thanks for his help.

He'd been leaning against a post, eyeing the butcher stand, when his eyes drooped and he suddenly found himself tumbling into the side of a passing lady, startling them both and smearing a bit of soot across the fine cloth. He quickly apologized, of course -- the woman giving a bit back smile of amusement as she accepted the apology -- only to soon find himself being backed up to a wall by a slightly towering figure.

"You need to watch where you're going, boy! Have some respect for the lady."

"I apologized, there's nothing more I can do. It was an accident, I assure you."

"Accident? I doubt that. You were trying to steal from her, weren't you?"

Phillip's eyes widened. "What? No! I've no reason to steal from her. Why should I?"

"Street urchin. Empty your pockets. Let us see that you've not---"

"Obadiah," A new voice cut through the bustle, drawing the taller man up short. "What is so terrible that you've cornered this boy?"

The man, Obadiah, turned to face the newcomer, his demeanor instantly changing to that of mock nonchalance. "Sir. This young man tried to rob Madam Pepper. I was merely--"

"You were merely nothing, Obadiah. I doubt that the young man who crafts the armor we wear and the swords you wield would have cause for robbing Madam Pepper. Don't you?"

Phillip's eyes bounced back and forth between the pair before landing on the newcomer. A bit shorter in height -- near Phillip's height, actually -- but with an air that screamed respect and high society. So _this_ was Sir Anthony die Starke! He'd always wondered.

Obadiah's face twisted for a moment before smoothing back out. "I suppose you're right."

Anthony grinned and nodded. "Of course I'm right. Now apologize to young Phillip and be on your way. I'll take things from here."

With a sloppy half bow, the older gentleman turned back to Phillip, uttered a poor excuse for an apology, and slunk off, glaring back over his shoulder as he went. Phillip looked back to Anthony, nodding his thanks.

"What brings you to town Young Phillip? Especially looking the way you do. It's no wonder Obadiah thought you a thief."

Phillip blushed slightly. "Supplies, goods. I was trying to choose a cut of meat to fix for supper this evening and I -"

"Fell asleep on your feet. It happens. Did you chose?"

"...No."

"Hm...Madam Pepper? Would you go and tell the butcher I need two cuts of whatever he has best of this day. And have them delivered to the smith Phillip’s home."

With a nod, the pleasant redhead turned and strolled back to the butcher to do as she'd been asked. Phillip stared in shock. "Thank you... but I -"

"You can. You will. I'll be by tomorrow afternoon to see the armor. Have a good day, Young Phillip." Without another word, the man headed off, disappearing into the crowds.

Phillip wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't just dreaming....

* * *

**Clinton slipped into the house** after he'd cleaned up, and went to sit with Phillip's mother. He knocked gently on her door before poking his head in. "Phillip is getting supplies, so I thought I'd come sit with you a while," he said gently.

As per usual, the woman was sitting at her window, staring off at the woods that reached far beyond their property clearing, off well behind the forge Phillip had set up. Though, unlike before, at Clinton's approach, the corners of her mouth gave way to a very faint smile, eyes softening and not quite staring off into nothingness.

He sat at her feet, reaching up to hold her hand, resting his head against her knee, much as he might have done were he shifted. "I don't have a pack. If I did, I would send for them, but I lost them when I was a Pup," he offered. "Far South of here. I felt drawn North and for these past years I've made my way from village to village, trying to find out if that was where I was meant to be." He glanced up. "I think I found it. My place is here."

He could feel the magic sifting through him to her, teasing away the chains wrapped so tightly. "Your son is working for a dangerous man. He doesn't know, does he. That his father's story was real."

There was silence in response, though the hand being held by Clinton's did give a very soft squeeze. With the magic coursing through her veins, she could feel -- bit by bit -- her long imprisonment falling down around her. "...R..eal..." The word came out as barely anything more than a sigh. "...No."

"I'm here, now," He said softly. "I'll keep you safe."

She wished so much she could truly speak to Clinton, thank him for arriving when he did, how worried she'd been for her son -- she knew he wasn't sleeping well, often she'd woken up to hear him shuffling about above in the attic, or tossing and turning only to give up and retreat outside to the forge. Instead, the quiet attempt at words was all she could muster out. "...'afe...."

"Safe," he repeated, pressing a kiss to her hand. He'd keep them safe, even if he wasn't very safe himself. He sang softly to her, but ended up falling asleep resting against her knee. His magic would work whether he was awake or asleep, and that was what mattered most.

* * *

 **The produce and other food items** were delivered straight to Phillip's home, left to sit on the kitchen table, just as they usually were when he'd asked for them to be delivered.

When Phillip arrived a short time after their delivery, he made his way towards his mother's room to check in on her. He knocked gently on the door before entering. "Mama? I'm back from town. I bought... oh, Clinton. Hello."

Clinton had startled awake, and blinked up at him. Phillip wasn't a threat, and therefore he was not waking quickly, hand still in the woman's. Magic use making him just a little slower for the lack of danger. "Hello," he said then yawned hugely.

Phillip gave a small smile as he looked at the pair, his mother still staring out the window silently. "Thank you for keeping her company."

"We had a nice time," Clinton said, slowly drawing his hand away and pushing himself to his feet.

Moving into the room to kiss his mother's head, Phillip nodded. "I imagine you did." He took a step back, his eyes finally glancing to meet Clinton's. "I have things that need to be put away in the kitchen, but would you mind taking this out to the forge for me? You can just set it on the work table and get the fires started up for me again, please." A small leather pouch was pulled from Phillip's pocket and held out for Clinton to take, bits of scrap silver left over from the jewelers inside.

Clinton hesitated only a second before taking the bag. "Of course," he said. He nodded both to Phillip and to his mother before leaving.

Phillip watched him leave, the tips of his ears burning red as he realized he'd actually just done that, before he turned to kiss his mother's head again gently. "Your son's a fool, I hope you know this. A complete and utter fool." He sighed and stepped back. "I'll see you at supper." Without another word, Phillip slipped from the room and quickly set about putting their next few meals away safely, before returning to the forge to finish work for the day.

Clinton could not endanger Phillip and his mother by 'losing' the silver, no matter how much he wished he could. He set the bag on the table and did his best to build a good enough fire that Phillip would not lose time on his other projects.

Returning to the forge, Phillip quickly donned his gloves and apron again and set to work quietly. He'd be able to get at least a little bit more on the armor done, and perhaps another twenty-five or so arrowheads made before the end of the day.

 **Hours later, Clinton spoke.** "I can finish sharpening the heads and meet you at the house when I'm done."

"Would you? If you don't mind? I'm not entirely sure how long supper will be to make tonight..."

"Call from the door when I should come, I'll do what I can until then," Clinton replied. Even humans would be close enough to hear.

Giving a nod, Phillip pulled his gloves off and stretched for a moment before slipping out to head back to the house. "Thank you, Clinton," he quipped back over his shoulder, heading his way back to the house so that he could start work on supper.

Clinton smiled slightly then went back to sharpening, then polishing, the arrowheads. He started in on polishing the bits of armor, trying not to think of how one of those arrowheads may end up in himself one day.

Phillip worked in the kitchen much like he did at the forge, with careful consideration and quiet efficiency. Only difference was, he'd help his mother to come sit in the kitchen with him so he had someone to talk to... even if she couldn't respond in return. He wasn't going to admit to himself, or anyone, that he was hopelessly lonely -- and had been for quite some time.

Pausing in his work, Clinton left the forge to walk the edge of the property, of the wood, to see if there was any sign of Others nearby. He was sad to see there weren't, but there were faint markings in some of the trees, markings that said they once had been here, that there was reason to be afraid. Clinton well knew that, though, and ignored them as he made his way back 'round to the forge, and polishing, until he would be called in.

 **When supper was finally ready,** Phillip moved into his mother's room to call out the window to Clinton instead of the door. It was just easier and more likely to be heard that way.

His head shot up immediately. He banked the fire and put away his tools, stopping at the well to get a bit of water to clean his hands before he went inside. His palms were a little red and abraded, but the gloves had protected him from the worst of it.

By the time Clinton made it into the house, the serving plates and dinner plates were on the table and waiting, the full cut of meat setting on Clinton's plate while the second one had been cut in half and split between Phillip's plate and his mother's.

Clinton paused in the door, looking among them. "You're sure?" he asked, swallowing for how his mouth watered.

Glancing up from his own spot, Phillip blinked twice before looking back to the food. "Well, I know for certain my mother won't eat the whole thing by herself... and I'm not sure I'd be able to... but, if you don't -"

He shook his head quickly. "I do. I really do."

Phillip smiled softly and motioned to the empty place waiting for him. "Then please, sit and enjoy. It's the least I can do to thank you for your help."

"Thank you," Clinton replied, sitting in his place and cutting the meat up. He was grateful that it seemed only mostly cooked, leaving just a little pink in the middle, it was very good.

Jocelyn’s mouth twitched, a very small smile, her fingers extending to make a reach for her plate so that Phillip could enjoy his own meal for a change and she could feed herself. It was slow going, but her hand finally did make it, fingers wrapped around a small chunk of meat, but being able to move it no further than that. Her eyes cast first to Clinton, almost a mournful plea before glancing to her son, whose head was down, resting on his left fist as he poked at his food, blinking slow and heavily.

Clinton reached under the table, finding a small tear in her garment and pressed his fingers to her skin. The power went to her easily, automatically, but he put more force behind it, rather than letting it take its time -- he actively worked to give her control. He did this while he continued to eat left handed, only the meat keeping him from becoming pale at the extra gift of magic.

The surge of energy took her a bit by surprise, but was certainly enough to get her moving better. She was at last able to lift the piece of meat to her own mouth and eat it.

He kept up the flow until she'd finished eating, taking his last bite as she did. Clinton's hand went back to his own lap as he used a small piece of bread to sop up what blood was still on his plate. He looked exhausted.

Phillip's head slipped off his hand, blinking rapidly as he pushed himself to sit upright again. He quickly shook himself awake enough to glance over at his mother, ready to apologize and help her eat, only to stop and stare in amazement. Her plate was cleared of almost everything, even the diced up potatoes he'd put on there for her. Turning his eyes to Clint, he nodded back to her plate. "Did you...?"

He shook his head. "She fed herself," he said, "I was hungry," He blushed caught in half a lie, but it could be taken as him not having thought to help her himself.

Eyes wide, Phillip shook his head. "That- that's not possible. She... hasn't been able to do anything of the sort since I was twelve."

Clinton took a piece of his bread, he'd already eaten the one that sopped up the meat's juices, blood - he had no stomach for the rest, and set it on her plate.

It took a moment, but eventually the woman's hand moved to grasp the bread and bring it to her mouth, carefully taking a bite and leaving her son looking absolutely dumbfounded beside her.

Phillip stared, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "How... wh-when did-? I don't understand...."

Clinton smiled and stood, clearing his plate and washing it in the bucket, setting it to dry. "I'll see you in the morning," he said, giving her a smile and squeezing Phillip's shoulder as he passed.

Phillip continued to just stare, absolutely dumbfounded and confused as to how this was possible. Healers had been trying since shortly after his birth to figure out what was wrong with her. They had originally passed it off to a sickness that struck many mothers who'd given birth and had started to go mad from it. That hadn't been it, though -- at least not all of it -- and for the past eight years, the woman had been unresponsive to just about everything. Now she was slowly able to feed herself? And _smile_?!

A sobby laugh escaped him as he moved to hug her tightly, near hysterics when he felt her arms very gently wrap around him in return. He'd have to talk to Clinton in the morning about this! Whatever it was about the other young man, his mother was improving by having him around and Phillip wanted very much to make sure it stayed that way.


	4. Chapter 4

**That night, as he'd done before** \-- exhausted as he was -- Clinton first walked the property, then slipped inside to sit on the floor beside the mother's bed. He took her hand in his, resting his forehead against it, dozing lightly as his magic worked to continue the freeing that had been begun and left undone so long ago. Just as he had the mornings before, he dozed at the door from twilight to dawn, he worked with Phillip, and worked hard, despite his exhaustion.

At just about midday, Phillip shook his head and pulled his gloves off. They were both weary and it showed. "What do you say to taking a bit of a longer break this afternoon?" He stretched and finally slouched himself onto the bench by the door. "The weather is nice. Perhaps a nap in the shade or under the sun would do us both some good?"

"Your deadlines," Clinton reminded him softly.

"Will be forfeited if I manage to burn myself on the fire or ruin pieces because I can no longer see straight enough to work." He yawned widely, his whole body feeling like it'd gone through a ringer, twice, and once more backwards just for good measure.

"Understood." Clinton set aside the piece he had just finished polishing and took off the gloves. "A nap in the sun sounds lovely."

Standing, Phillip made his way outside and around the side of the forge to where there was a bit of shade starting but still mostly sunlight. With a dramatic _flop_ , he laid back, his arm over his eyes to keep the sun out, and sighed heavily, contently. This. This felt much better than trying to sleep in his attic bedroom.

Clinton curled up in the sun by his feet, one leg flat out and the other drawn up, his arm as a pillow. He fell to sleep almost immediately.

 **The pair lay in the sun** , sleeping peacefully, until a shadow came to fall over them. Even then, it still took Phillip a few moments to realize he was being watched, and to wake up. When he did, he slowly moved his hand from his face and blinked up into the coyly smiling face of Sir Anthony die Starke.

Eyes wide, he scrambled to sit up, accidentally kicking Clinton in the process. "Sir! Uh...S-Sir Anthony. I'm sorry. My apologies, Sir. I didn't forget you were coming today, I--"

Anthony raised his hand and smirked, glancing from Phillip to Clinton and back again. "Needn't apologize, Smith. Phillip. Not at all."

Clinton yelped as he startled awake, rolling to a crouch before standing up and rubbing at his eyes, looking between them. Not being local, he had no idea who this finely dressed man was. He didn't smell nearly as wrong as the big man who demanded silver arrowheads, so perhaps he was not a danger to himself, to Phillip's family.

Phillip rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, casting an apologetic shrug back to Clinton before looking back to Anthony... who was, for some reason, grinning at them both like a cat who got into the cream and was quite pleased with itself. "Uhm... right... yes... uhm... Sir Anthony, this is my assistant, Clinton. Clinton, this is Sir Anthony die Starke, the one whom we're making the armor for."

Clinton only nodded his head, his kind never did get the hang of bowing respect. He did lift his chin, baring his throat a little, though to humans it might look like stubbornness. "Sir Anthony."

Anthony's eyebrow quirked in surprise at the bared throat. It had been decades since he'd last seen that. He pursed his lips a bit and nodded to him slightly. "A pleasure to meet you as well, Clinton." He tilted his head slightly as he regarded him. "You look familiar. My father didn't buy your family's land out from under you, did he?"

“I wouldn't know, I was orphaned when I was a... child." Clinton replied with only a slight stumble of words.

Brows knitting together, Anthony watched him a bit more. "You're from South of here... aren't you?"

"Yes," Clinton answered, meeting his gaze fearlessly.

Anthony gave a soft laugh and smiled as his hands came together in a small clap before nodding. "Thought so. Anyway. My armor? How is it coming?"

Phillip blinked in confusion, looking between the two. That was... odd. Nodding, he dusted his hands on his slacks. "Yes. Right this way. We have the chest plate hammered out and formed, if you'd like to see how it fits and everything?"

"Perfect. Lead the way."

Clinton followed, thinking about the interaction. There was no way around it. Sir Anthony knew - however he seemed pleased rather than threatened, and he did not call him out, or try to slit his throat immediately. For now, he could be trusted. He stayed at the back, watching as Phillip worked.

Phillip showed Anthony the piece they had completely finished, as well as the plans for the rest and how long he thought it might take to get it completely finished. He swallowed awkwardly when he made mention of the order for two hundred arrowheads that were needed by that Monday morning.

Anthony frowned when he heard about the arrowheads. "Chisholm? He's a barbaric fool. Bastard hunts illegally on my property. I'll pay you twice what he is to scrap those arrowheads and tell him where to put them."

Clinton's head shot up and he couldn't help looking at Anthony with a hopeful gaze.

Rubbing at the back of his neck again, Phillip took a deep breath and shook his head. "I made a commitment. I can't just not go through with it."

"You can if you don't have the materials he's wanting for them. I suppose he wants them silver tipped?"

"Not tipped, no--"

Anthony shook his head and glanced around the shop, as if looking for something in particular. "Worked into the other metal. Further proof he's a fool. Alright, fine. Triple and I'll make sure if he dares try to say anything against your fine work, that he'll regret doing so."

Phillip's jaw went slack. What in the ever loving world was going on? "I... I'm sorry, Sir. It's a very generous offer but..."

Turning, Anthony looked to Clinton. "Convince him, will you?"

"Phillip, it is far better money, without," he took a shaky breath and clasped his hands behind his back to hide their shaking. "It's better money, Phillip. I don't like the other man. I don't like how he speaks to you." It was the best Clinton could do.

Phillip looked first to Clinton, then to Anthony. "I understand your anger with the man if he's poaching on your property, but that doesn't give me grounds to terminate my arrangement with him."

"You are one hard headed Pup, aren't you?" Anthony rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Fine. Then how about this arrangement? You finish making this batch of arrow heads for him, and then tell him to hit the road. You've just been hired as my personal blacksmith." Tilting his head, Anthony nodded, hand coming down on the table. "Yes. You're my personal blacksmith now."

Clinton grinned. He didn't know who Sir Anthony die Starke was, but he was protecting him, other Others. He looked to see how Phillip chose to continue.

Stammering, Phillip blinked once, then again. "I...that...."

"Just nod and say 'Yes'."

Phillip squared his jaw for a moment before taking a breath and nodding. "Alright. Fine. Yes. Thank you, Sir."

The bright grin returned to Anthony's face as he clapped Phillip on the shoulder and turned to head out again. "Excellent! I'll be back Monday afternoon to see the armor again! Keep it up!"

As he moved past Clinton, his hand came up in a form to pat his back, though instead grasped at the nape of his neck briefly and lightly before he was out the door and headed off on his way again.

For the first time in a long time, Clinton felt safe. It stilled him just a moment then he all but howled his excitement. "You have to tell your mother. Now. I'll watch the forge," he promised, grinning hugely.

Frowning, Phillip rubbed at his neck and then at his face. "Not sure why she would be excited for this, but... I suppose I will. I'll be back in a few minutes." Slipping out, he headed for the house to tell his mother the news.

Clinton Grinned and ran around the forge cleaning things up and basically danced around gleefully before setting about actually doing his job.

Phillip returned a short time later, a confused look on his face as he leaned against the doorway of his shop and watched Clinton curiously. "Why does no one want me making arrows for Sir Chisholm?"

"He is no good," Clinton said.

"Yes. I got that distinct impression from you, Sir Anthony, and my mother...."

"The sooner the heads are finished, the sooner you are rid of him." And the blood on his hands, Clinton did not say.

Arms folded over his chest, Phillip didn't move from his place in the doorway, watching him carefully. "There's something amiss here."

Clinton thought for a few very long minutes. "There's only one reason someone would want that many silver arrowheads. It's not a good one."

"He's a hunter and a showman. He performs in competitions. Perhaps he just likes to have them shine brighter?"

"Steel can shine just as bright," Clinton replied, turning to where he was sharpening the sword Phillip had made before, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation.

Frowning, Phillip stepped into the shop and up to his work table. He stared down at his gloves in silent thought before finally picking them up and slipping them back on so he could work. "...it's a little bit odd, you know."

Clinton huffed a laugh and smiled slightly as he continued his work.

Looking over his shoulder quickly, Phillip sighed. "I mean... the fact that my mother has been ill for near as long as I've lived... has not said or done a single thing of her own for the past eight years... and now in the course of a couple of days, she's begun to feed herself again and smile. Be responsive once more."

"Maybe the Wolves are back, and they don't know you're making the arrows for that man." Clinton said without emotion.

Phillip rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he shoved a rod of iron into the fires to heat. "The wolves are nothing but a story my father made up. There've never been wolves on this property and I'm sure there never will be. Let alone magical ones."

"Not if you're going to doubt them," Clinton rolled his eyes.

"I do doubt," he muttered back turning to set the rod on the anvil, hammer in hand to beat his anger out on it.

"Then I shall believe for you," Clinton replied sharply, focusing on the blade entirely, now.

Huffing in aggravation, Phillip set his jaw and decided just not to answer that, to focus on work instead.

 **They worked silently** the rest of the day, and when dusk came, Clinton set aside the last of the arrowheads he was polishing and took off his gloves.

Phillip set his gloves aside quietly, staring down at his hands, running his fingers over the callouses and burn marks that were across his palms. "If wolves were sent to protect us, then why would they allow my mother to grow ill? Why let my father be killed in cold blood?"

"Did you ever think maybe it was because people like you, made arrowheads like that, which were used by men like Chisholm?!" Clinton growled, unable to let that one go. He stayed by the wheel, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. "Did you ever once stop to think they weren't there, because maybe they were DEAD."

 _Just a Pup, his entire family filled with arrows, trying to pull them out, too young to shift to have the hands to do so. So small and helpless and crying, as the poison of the silver brought them painful death. Running running running, too young to find his way South, running for days to a pack of mundane wolves, growing up there -- then finally learning to shift, and find his way where he was needed. His kind were always_ needed _, always had that pull, when they were big enough to fulfill their purpose._

The thought that those who'd watched over Phillip's mother had died like that was enough to make him angry at anyone naysaying their kind.

Phillip stared at Clinton for a long while, not entirely sure how to respond to that, because... no, he really hadn't ever thought of that. But despite it being mentioned, he still didn't believe there'd ever been any to begin with. Shaking his head, he put out the fire and cleaned up his workbench as best he could. This whole thing was absurd and ridiculous.

Brushing past Clinton, he kept his jaw clenched. "Supper will be within the hour..."

"Don't bother making any for me, I'll find my own." He climbed nimbly into the loft, grabbed his quiver and bow, then slipped down again, taking the back way out.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Phillip made his way into the house to fix supper for himself and his mother. Well, mostly for his mother. He really didn't have much of an appetite anymore.

 **Clinton went to the woods** , knowing a rabbit would be more than enough. He thought about shifting, it'd been so long, but with someone like Chisholm sniffing around (har har) he shouldn't risk himself. Not until the mother had been healed, no matter how her son believed.

In the trees, hiding in the thick shadows, a great black wolf lay in watch as Clinton hunted in human form. That was no way to hunt.

Creeping through the brush, the wolf waited until Clinton was near ready to draw his bow back before he leapt and pounced, taking him to the ground, play growling and rolling them until he could take hold of the nape of Clinton's neck once more.

Clinton yelped but didn't fight, recognising it as play. He laughed then, going limp and showing his throat and belly after he was taken down.

With a playful growl, the black wolf spanked the ground with his front paws, lowered his front half to the ground, tail wagging for a moment before standing upright and shifting to human form with a practiced ease and grace. "You know," Anthony cracked his jaw and back carefully, "The woods are no place for a Pup alone."

Clint stayed seated, not even bothered by Anthony's nudity. "Hence hunting for my meal as a Man," he said. "It's dangerous, you KNOW this, why were you here?"

"Why not eat with Phillip and his mother?" Anthony dropped himself to the forest floor, settling on a soft patch of grass and tilting his head curiously.

"I shouted at him. I will see to her in the night as I've been," he said, instinct telling him that he should. "Why didn't you help her?"

Humming thoughtfully, Anthony looked down to pick at grass, tossing twigs away from him. "Young Phillip does seem the sort who might be a bit difficult to get along with. I should know. I'm the same way." He smirked playfully before sighing. "I knew of his mother's plight, I knew of the healers who claimed there was nothing to be done for her. But I had no way to get close to them. To help. Young Phillip guards her with his life, doesn't allow many people in, especially near her. He'd no reason to let me in. I'm the son of a very, very rich man, Pup. The son of such a man does not mingle and befriend the son of a miner and supposed mad-woman. But believe me, I wanted to help." Pausing, he leaned back, staring up off through the tree branches. "I knew I couldn't get close to her, but when his father and mine were killed, I knew the least I could do was ensure he kept enough money in his pockets to keep their home around her and whatever other necessities they required. It was the best and only way for me to help them."

"She is doing better already," Clinton said, closing his eyes with a sigh. "I don't know where I will go when she is healed. I don't have a pack."

"You stay with them." It was said with such certainty and nonchalance as Anthony laid back on the grass. "She may be doing better, but her son is... well... you see him more than I. All I know, is I saw him in the town yesterday, quite literally asleep on his feet, leaning against a post." Opening his eyes, he rolled his head to look at Clinton. "The boy doesn't sleep. God knows what things he does at night, but sleep is not one of them."

Clinton thought back to that brief touch when his magic surged to help, and nodded. "Not until the night is nearly gone."

Anthony hummed again. "He's a strange boy, that one is. Everyone is town says. I can neither confirm nor deny, but for what I know of him... I don't think he's strange, more that he is lonesome and hurting."

"I don't know he likes me around much, right now," Clinton said. "But... He's not Other, you could smell it on him if he was - though he doesn't think needing gloves to handle the metal is strange." He didn't know enough lore, trying hard to remember what he learned when he was a child, before he was alone.

"His mother." Anthony rolled his head back to look up through the trees again. "A mere fraction of one, but Other just the same."

That answered that question. "I'd like to go back to hunting, I want to eat and get some sleep before I see to her at moonrise."

Nodding, Anthony pushed himself back to his feet, stretched, and sighed. "As you wish. Though, if you ever wish to run, my property meets the far edge of town to the north and goes for more than three miles in each direction. You're welcome to it. And I'd be happy to have someone young to run with, again."

"I may. Thank you," Clinton said, staying low and submissive and not even caring that it was what he was doing. He'd wait until he was gone before he got back to his Mannish hunting.

Anthony gave a slight bow before his body shifted and transformed back into that of his wolf form. Giving a quick snap at Clinton's ankle, the wolf turned and darted back off through the woods, quiet as could be.

He smiled, feeling more settled than he had in a very long time. He hadn't been around another wolf, let alone a Wolf, in a long time. It was nice to not be alone.

It didn't take him long to get himself a rabbit, and he indulged in eating it raw, sure to wash off in the creek before bringing the skin back to tan and get some sleep before he could go into the house to sit with Phillip's Mother from late moonrise until nearly dawn.

 **Phillip stayed quiet all through supper.** No chattering away while he cooked for himself and his mother, not a word when she'd eaten her meal on her own. And when it came time to retire for the night, he'd barely spared a kiss to her head as he helped her to bed before he made his way up to his own room again.

He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing sleep would come, but knew deep down it was a lost cause.

Around the midnight hour, Clinton slipped quietly into the house, silently into Mother's room to sit beside her bed and hold her hand, and doze lightly so he could escape if he needed.

It was only a short time after Clinton sneaked into the house, that Phillip sneaked out. Slipping from the home and out to the forge once more. He'd intended to just work on something quiet, though when he discovered Clinton missing from the loft, the fires were relit and he'd set to work on the arrowheads once more, casting them and sharpening them by himself.

Clinton sighed, hearing him at work. Right now, Mother was the higher priority, though. He closed his eyes, and let himself drift, giving her as much as he could and still stay alert enough to skiddadle, or maybe shift, in time not to be caught. Anthony had been correct. This family was in dire need. Belief or none.


	5. Chapter 5

 

* * *

**When the morning light** finally began to creep through the windows, the woman's eyes fluttered open slowly, a small smile on her face. Her fingers gently pet through Clinton's hair, the movements slow, still, but more fluid than they'd been before.

He smiled, drifting awake. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I couldn't come for supper, and I don't think I should for breakfast, Ma'am." His eyes were half lid, he did so love being pet. A large part of him wanted to shuck this human clothing, shift, and curl up next to her with her hand buried in his fur, helping her, healing her, protecting her.

Hearing the sounds of metal hitting metal from outside, Jocelyn turned her eyes out the window, as if to say she doubted breakfast would be happening anyway. She gave a small scritch to the nape of his neck, a soft little smile still on her face.

Clinton made a sound much like a dog's pleased groan. "I can make you something to eat, Ma'am."

She frowned, shaking her head. Moving her hand from Clinton's hair, she tapped a finger to his chest, then to his stomach. "...eat..."

"I had supper," he said, shifting to look at her and smile softly. "With your permission I'll make food for all three of us and try and coax your son in for the meal?"

Her smile turning soft again, she gave a small nod of approval before leaning back into her pillows once more. She only hoped that Phillip would not be a stubborn fool, and would come in to eat.

Clinton held her hand a little longer before pressing a kiss to it. "He is lucky to have you," he said softly, letting go and starting to make food with what he could find.

 **Phillip stared down at the arrowheads** he'd managed to finish during the night. Not near as many as there were when Clinton would help him but, still, nothing to sneeze at either. If the rate continued, they'd have the arrowheads finished ahead of schedule and they could set to work on his other pieces.

Picking one of the thin, metal heads up from the table, he turned it in his fingers, letting the light glitter off it. His fingers tingled in irritation, but he paid it no mind. It happened too often to be concerned anymore. When the sharpened edge slid through the pad of his finger as if it were nothing, he hissed softly and frowned. Alright, yes. They were plenty sharp. He set the head back down on the leather rag and turned back to the fires. If he played his cards right, he could get another three or four finished before Clinton returned.

 _If_ Clinton returned...

 **Once he'd finished** cooking the flatbread, he set some down with cream, cut into small pieces, for Mother, before leading her into the kitchen. "I'll go get him, now."

She squeezed his arm gently as she settled herself into the chair, hands folded in her lap to wait for her son and Clinton to return.

It didn't take him long to make it to the forge, standing just inside the door. "Breakfast is ready, Phillip."

Phillip turned, setting the freshly made arrowhead down on the table to be sharpened once he had a couple more to go with it. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry."

"You want me to go back and tell your Mother you didn't want to eat, right after she told me to get you?"

Moving back to the fires, he poured some silver and ore into the melting spoon and settled it over the flames. "Mother rarely eats breakfast." Phillip paused and glanced over his shoulder, back to Clinton. "...and yes. That's exactly what you're to do."

"She's sitting at the table. I will haul you up over my shoulder if I have to."

"Oh I would love to see you try." Phillip's attention turned back to his work, a frown creasing his features.

Clinton walked over, ignored the burn on his hand as he moved the spoon off the flames, and hauled Phillip over his shoulder, turning and starting back to the house.

Eyes wide with surprise, Phillip flailed his arms and legs as he was hauled from the forge. "What the... let me down! I'm not some child you can just throw over your shoulder!"

"You're acting like one, sir," Clinton said as he kept carrying him toward the house. Phillip may be a smith, and have the strength associated, but Clinton was stronger than he appeared, and it really wasn't that difficult to carry him along.

"I have _work_ to do! How does that make me act like a child?! I have orders I have to complete if I'm to work solely as Sir Anthony's blacksmith!" Phillip flailed and jerked his body to the side, trying to throw the other man off balance so that he could roll free and hopefully regain a bit of self-respect.

"You've been working since just past midnight," Clinton said, stumbling to the side but not falling, just wrapping his arm tighter over his body. He opened the door to the house and stepped inside. "So consider this lunch."

Phillip gave a growl of frustration, trying again to throw the man off balance. "I told you, I'm not hungry. And how could you possibly know what time and how long I've been working? You weren't even in the forge at all last night."

"Not a quiet work," Clinton said, shoving the door shut with his foot, giving Phillip's mother a grin as he swung the man off his shoulders and into a chair. "Eat."

Jocelyn tried to hide her amused smile, lips pressed together and eyes cast downwards as her son was dumped, rather unceremoniously, into his chair and handed a plate. Oh this little Wolf was either going to be very good for Phillip, or... her son would cast him out in frustration.

Glaring hard at Clinton, Phillip set his jaw and sat up straight in the chair, pushing the plate away. "As I said before. _Thank you_ , but I am _not_ hungry."

Clinton just hummed and put some clotted cream on his piece of pan-bred and ate. His other hand was under the table, touching Phillip's mother and giving her more strength as they had their breakfast. "You don't have to eat," Clinton said. "But you don't get to leave the table until we're both done."

Phillip scowled in frustration and nearly laughed out loud at those words. "Who are you to tell me what I may or may not do in my own home? You've been here less than a week!" Shoving his chair back, he stood, a challenging set his jaw. "I'm beginning to think hiring you was the worst idea I've had to date."

"Probably," Clinton said, standing. "But last evening your employer told me to keep an eye out for you. You're going to end up forging your FINGERS if you don't take care of yourself."

"I have survived _long enough_ without the aid anyone else! I don't need an interloper coming in to try now!" Turning, Phillip started out of the room, only pausing long enough to glance back and pierce Clinton with a cold stare. "I want you to leave. Gather your things and go. Don't come back."

"No." Clinton moved to block him from the door.

Phillip bristled and stood as tall as he could. "This is my house. You don't get to tell me what to do. Especially when your services are no longer required nor wanted. Now _leave_!"

Clinton stood his ground and glanced at Phillip's mother.

"I want you...to _leave."_ Phillip ground out, eyes cold and harsh.

At the table, his mother gave a quiet noise in the back of her throat. Carefully, she pushed herself up from her chair and took very cautious steps towards them. It wasn't much, but it was something at least.

"Madam?" Clinton asked, watching her instead of Phillip.

"And that's another thing!!" Phillip's eyes widened all the more. "You've taken far too keen a liking for my mother! I don't know what you're doing, but I want it to end, now! You've done something and it ends now. _LEAVE!_ "

Clinton watched her a moment longer, then turned and nodded to Phillip. He did not lift his chin as he had to Sir Anthony. He turned and left without a word, gathering his things and heading north.

Phillip slumped back down into his chair, head in his hand and gave a deep, heavy sigh. Frowning, he looked back up to his mother, inwardly cringing when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Oh for the... Mother! He's hardly older than I am! I don't know what he's done to you, put some enchantment on you or something, but he's gone now and things will go back to normal."

The one thing the young man had not been expecting was the slap he got across the face. True, it wasn't nearly as hard as it could have been, but still it stung against his cheek. He sat blinking in surprise as his mother made her own way back to her room, the door closing hard behind her.

* * *

**Clinton made his way** to the land north of Phillip’s forge, hoping Anthony would allow him to keep his things there. He knew he couldn't give up, not now. Not when she was making such progress. He had some ideas on how Anthony could help Phillip. His bitterness was a sickness, that much was clear.

Anthony sat under a tree at the edge of the clearing, taking in the morning air and sunshine. ...Or more accurately, he continued to sleep under the tree he'd finally decided made a good resting place during the night. Young Phillip wasn't the only one who suffered bouts of insomnia, after all. Though, Anthony at least knew how to cope with it better than Phillip, it seemed.

Clinton sat down in front of him, cross legged with his gear in his lap, and waited.

"You're smart to let a sleeping dog lie," Anthony murmured, slowly opening one eye. "But it's a little unnerving to be watched while you sleep."

"I need your help," he answered unrepentantly, lifting his chin a little in apology. "I need somewhere to keep my things, and . . . you need to shake Phillip's hand whenever you make a deal with him, because I cannot help him anymore. His mother, I may, as long as I'm careful."

Anthony groaned and stretched, yawning wide as he moved to sit up straight again. "Oh Lords... what has happened that you're no longer welcome there? When, just before, I saw you lying at his feet on the grass."

"His mother wanted me to bring him in to break fast. So I did. He thinks I am... having relations?.. with her, I don't understand why," Clinton's brow furrowed in honest confusion.

A dark brow etched upwards as Anthony tilted his head. "You've been helping her. Healing her. Which means you've no doubt had to be close to her." Shaking his head, he glanced up towards the sky. "You're a good looking Pup, Clinton. His father's been dead and gone four years. Suddenly you show up, realize you can help his mother and so, you do. Except to the eyes of boy, a son, who is seeing this, it no doubt looks like you've decided to make advances at his mother."

Clinton blinked. "I don't fancy Man's women, I never have. If anything I've wished she were _my_ mother, as I barely remember my own."

"And I'm certain Phillip doesn't know any of that." Anthony sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "You may put your things up in my home. Jarvis will show you a room you can use. Though... I am curious as to why you want me to shake his hand when we conduct business."

"He's sick. I could feel it when I carried him in to break fast at his mother's behest."

Anthony hummed thoughtfully, giving a small nod. "Silver poisoning. Slow and effective. Probably doesn't even know he has it. Damned fool's been making silver arrows for too long."

"Do you think that is what is making him bitter?" Clinton looked at his own hands, still looking scalded from the work he'd been doing over the course of this past week. "Will I take ill?" he asked quietly. He really didn't know. "I'm sorry, you're the first Wolf I've seen since before I could take Man’s shape."

Reaching out, Anthony took hold of Clinton's hand and frowned down at the burn that was there. "The only way you'll take sick is if you don't have this burn looked at. What did you do? Stick your hand in the fire?"

"Yes. I've also been sharpening and polishing the arrows. There are holes in the gloves he lended me." Clinton said, eyes cast down.

Standing, Anthony helped Clinton back to his feet. "C'mon. We'll go have that hand looked at." He turned, starting back to his home. "Though, no. I doubt you'll take ill like he has. You've only been exposed to it for a short time. God only knows how long Young Phillip has been making arrows for that bastard of a hunter."

Clinton growled a little, pulling his bow and quiver over his shoulder as well as his small pack. "He smells dangerous, sir. He bull-headed and forced him to take the work rather than allow him to say no." It was clear the Pup was worried.

"That sounds like Chisholm. He's been around far too long. My father'd hoped that the man would grow bored when he could no longer find any Wolves to hunt, and then would move on.  Obviously he thought wrong. He hasn't yet. And as far as I know, there's only a small handful of us left. Yourself, me, my advisor-guardian, and my assistant."

"Why do they hunt us?"

"Why did Uther burn and behead those who practiced magic, when I was young? He feared what he did not understand." Anthony shrugged as they trudged up the hill that led to his home. "Plus, apparently our skins make fine winter clothes and blankets."

If he were in his true form, his tail would be tucked, ears flattened, his head low. The whimper in his throat relayed that just as fully. "Do yo think that's what happened to my pack?" he whispered.

Anthony's eyes stayed focused straight ahead of them. "It's what happened to my father and mother. I suspect it's what happened to your pack, as well." Giving a soft snuff, he finally lowered his eyes. "Phillip's father was killed for protecting my parents. The hunters killed him to get to them."

Clinton whimpered, coming in close to the taller man, clearly the alpha of his pack. "He's very bitter, and angry," he said. "But when he doesn't think of Wolves, or his mother's state, he can be kind."

His arm came to drop around Clinton's shoulders comfortingly. "That's part of the silver poisoning. Though, it's my understanding he believes the Wolves to either be just a story his father created, or that we abandoned his family when they needed us most. You an' I both know that's not true... but to him?" He shook his head and sighed. "He's a very kind-hearted young man. Just hurt, and lonesome. Sick, and he doesn't even know it."

"I can't help him, but now you can. I'll sneak in and help his mother when he isn't there. Hopefully he will not kill me," he finished barely under his breath.

"Phillip's angry and bitter, but I don't believe there is a bone in him that would purposefully kill another being." Giving Clinton's shoulder a squeeze, he pushed him towards the door first, a lopsided grin in place. "Besides that, he's got eyes for you."

"He despises me," was the glum answer, just as good as admitting that the sentiment was returned.

Anthony paused, head tilted to one side in thought. "Did... we miss the part where it was established he's sick, bitter, and angry?"

He nodded slightly.

Squeezing his shoulder again, Anthony nudged him to continue walking. "C'mon, Pup. You can lick your wounds in your room."

"I've never slept in a room before, unless you count falling asleep at his Mother's feet the other afternoon."

"Well, you will now. Own room, a bed, blankets," Anthony tugged at Clinton's arm to get his attention. "And let me tell you about the blankets. You shift to wolf form, there's nothing more fun than rooting them around and wrestling them. Get them rooted to a nice soft nest. Blankets are the best invention in the world and no one will ever tell me different."

"Truly?" Clinton perked up a little. The thought of shifting for however long he'd like, rather than only if he was alone and cold in the wood, sounded wonderful. "I'd like that. The hay was comfortable."

Anthony cringed at the thought of sleeping in hay. "The more I'm hearing of what Phillip is apparently truly like, the less I like him." He frowned and turned a corner, motioning Clinton to follow him. "You're welcome to take either form you're more comfortable with while you stay here. However, doors are far easier to open with human hands. For the most part, I stay in human form. Pepper likes to stay mostly in Wolf form, as does Obadiah. Jarvis is our houseman, he knows who and what we are and takes to finding a Wolf lying on the floor with stride. You needn't worry about him."

“Phillip said he sleeps above the forge sometimes, and it was fun to burrow in the hay, it wasn't bad," he was quick to defend. "It was better than I've had. Usually I'm outside in a scoop under a bush. Sometimes, if I'm hired, I got to sleep in stables.”  Which meant the loft was, to the young Wolf, a luxury.

"Oh my poor dear cousin..." Anthony shook his head and reached to open a door that led into a comfortably furnished bedroom. "This is your room now. No more sleeping outside, or in hay. Not unless you want to."

Clinton didn't know how to respond to what was, essentially, an invitation to be a part of Anthony’s pack -- too busy taking in the space. After several speechless moments, he turned and nosed under Anthony's chin in submission and thanks, acknowledging him as pack alpha.

He stepped into the room, putting the quiver and bow and bag on the bed, pulling off his tunic and hissing at the tug on his hands. Off went the trousers and thin shoes and he shifted, a small, young, brown Wolf, all but chasing his tail at being _comfortable_ , yelping a little at the feel of stone under raw forepaws. He wagged his tail so hard his hind end wagged along with it, looking up at Anthony.

Laughing at the sight, Anthony sat at the foot end of the bed and held his hand out. "C'mere. Let me take a look at those paws. I should call Pepper in to look at them."

Clinton went to him, nosing at his hand and licking the fingertips before presenting both paws to him, sitting back on his haunches. Was this what it was like to have a Wolf family? It had to be, this was how Phillip treated his mother - and Man were not that much different from Wolf.

Anthony looked the paws over for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. "Pepper has a balm that we can put on 'em. But they should be alright. Keep 'em clean and everything." Patting the bed, he stood to give the young Wolf some room. "I'll send her in later with some of it. For now, get some rest. You look like you could use it."

Clinton jumped onto the bed, it taking two tries, then he rolled over to show his belly, tail wagging. There was nothing but thankfulness in his gaze.

Reaching out, Anthony gave Clinton's stomach a quick scritch and smiled fondly. "Rest, Clinton. You're safe here."

He wagged his tail once more, licked at Anthony's fingers then curled up, closing his eyes. He really was exhausted, and sleep would be wonderful.

Besides. Here was _safe_.

* * *

**Jocelyn, Phillip’s mother, sat at her window,** long after supper had ended and her son had retreated to his room upstairs. She knew he wasn't asleep, she could hear him moving about, and oh how she wished she could try to explain things to him. Make him see that Clinton had only been trying to help. But she couldn't. Small words were hard enough to get out, let alone a full sentence or more.

With the warm weather slowly returning, she cracked her window just enough to let the cool night air in, and to give Clinton a way in - should he return. The poor young Wolf. He didn't deserve her son's bitterness and misunderstanding. The young one was far too good for that. She wished to apologize. Perhaps, if he returned, she could.

Clinton's paws were treated, and Pepper had wrapped light leather over his forepaws to protect them as they healed. He slipped through the woods, careful and silent, then through the shadows, following his nose to the Mother's window. He hopped atop a box beneath it and peered in, ears perked forward. He was small, even for a Wolf, showing his youth for what it was.

Sitting on her bed, Jocelyn looked up at the motion at her window. She spotted the brown Wolf easy enough and smiled softly, giving a nod for him to enter.

Carefully he climbed inside, landing on the floor. He glanced at the window, hoping he'd make it back out. Perhaps he could nose the small chair over to it. Wagging his tail lightly he padded over to her with his wrapped forepaws and sat at her knee, nosing under her hand. When she touched his fur, he could feel his magic begin to work for her. He was glad he could still help.

She pet through his fur gently, comfortingly, feeling his magic seep through to her. Without a second thought, she patted the bed and motioned for him to jump up.

He did, slightly awkward, and lay down beside her atop the blankets, head on his forepaws, eyes closing as she pet him. If it was the only good he did in his life, he would free her.

Letting her fingers tangle in the soft fur, Jocelyn turned her eyes to the ceiling at the sound of her son shuffling about up there. Giving a small frown, she reached down to nudge his muzzle until he was looking at her. "...I ..am ...'orry..." The words were a bit off, tone wise, and slow coming, but it was the best she could do at the moment.

He nosed her cheek, licking it just once to let her know he wasn't angry.

Jocelyn smiled softly, if maybe a bit sadly, before she continued petting him and allowed herself to drift off to sleep, fingers nestled in the soft thick fur.

Clinton stayed there, eyes closed and listening to her breathing, feeling his magic work for her, until dawn. He slipped carefully out from under her hand, nosed the chair to the window, and climbed out, racing the dawn to the safety of the woods - then back to Anthony's territory.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((AN: Sorry about disappearing a bit, and I promise I haven't forgotten about uploading this and Heart, but this has a lot more finished, so I'm gonna try to get them about equalised a bit before I go back to updating back and forth - I've not been in a good headspace lately and my physicality has been pretty awful to boot. Hopefully this 'good phase' will last a little longer this time and I'll get more up for you guys, and maybe be able to help work on writing more as well (and that our RL schedules mesh enough that we can! :) (so my fault)). Thanks for sticking with! ~roguebowtie))

* * *

**When Monday morning broke,** Phillip startled himself awake in the forge, eyes bleary and body aching from having worked through the entire night to finish the arrowheads.

No sooner had the sun risen over the horizon, then Chisholm was towering in the forge doorway once more. Phillip stood tall, pushing aside his weariness and made motion to the leather pouch of silver and metal that was waiting for him.

"Your order, as promised, Sir. Two-hundred silver and iron arrow heads."

Chisholm nodded, taking the pouch and looking inside at them. "I'll be needing another hundred by Wednesday."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm afraid I can't do that."

"You've accommodated before..."

"Yes, sir, and I'm sorry. I've been hired as Sir Anthony's personal blacksmith, though. I've been instructed to finish my already promised orders and then I'm to work solely for Sir Anthony." The words made him sick to think about. He'd worked hard to become what he was, and he provided a great help to the people of the town who couldn't usually afford otherwise. Now he'd been told he was to work only for Anthony. It was painful.

Chisholm started at Phillip for a long while. "Anthony die Starke? Son of Howard and Maria?"

Phillip shrugged. "Yes, I suppose so."

Growling low in his throat, Chisholm dropped a bag of coins onto the counter. "Where does this Anthony live? I wish to have words with him."

Something about the man's tone made Phillip draw up short. He swallowed hard and shook his head, shrugging slightly. "I... I'm not sure. North of town, I believe."

"His family's property?"

"Yes? I think?"

Another small growl and Chisholm was grabbing up his arrowheads and turning to leave the forge without another word.

 **Clinton had spent most of Sunday** running around outside with his new pack, enjoying the feel of the ground beneath his now healed paws. After his supper he'd gone straight to Phillip's Territory, skulking around at the edge of the wood until it was late enough to go stay with Mother. Phillip working all night kept him alert, and he fell asleep around the same time as the young man had, laying with his head on his paws on top of the covers beside her, her hand still buried in his fur, his magic still working to free her as he slept his exhaustion.

When the morning light came through her window, and the sounds of voices from the forge drifted into her room, Jocelyn's eyes fluttered open and her head tilted as she listened. She could just barely make out her son's voice, the other she'd have known anywhere. Shaking Clinton gently, she whimpered quietly. "...Ch...-is...olm..."

The young Wolf woke, looking to her, his ears perking forward... then he heard him. His hackles raised, ears laid flat. The man was going to go after his new pack. He could NOT lose another pack. He licked at her hand and looked toward the window opposite to the forge. If he could make a dash for the wood, he could stay unseen until he made it back home.

"...Go..." She shoved at his shoulder gently, pushing him toward the window. She knew what Chisholm was after, and she had the feeling he wouldn't stop until all of Anthony's pack was dead on their backs.

He leaped onto the chair then through the window, a brown blur headed to the forest - before following the creek swiftly-swiftly, running because lives depended on him to get there _first_.

At Anthony's castle (and it _was_ a castle, to him, and no one should dare try to tell him differently), the Wolves slept in various places, both inside and outside the stone walls. Anthony on his back in the early morning sunlight, dew glistening off his black fur.

Clinton almost missed him and doubled back, nosing at Anthony's muzzle with desperate whines.

Groaning, he rolled to his side, shifting as he went until he sat on his knees in human form, black hair sticking up in all directions. "Clinton? It's far too early to be playing."

Clinton shifted, eyes wild and terrified. "Chi-Chisholm knows you live north. He's angry that Phillip told him no. He has the heads and he's angry and he knows you live north and-"

Standing quickly, Anthony put his hands on Clinton's shoulders. "Slow down, Pup. It'll be fine. Go and tell Jarvis that he's to stop what he's doing and leave for the day. I will find him at the Inn. I'll warn Obadiah and Pepper. If Chisholm wants to come here looking for us, he'll find only an empty shell."

Clinton nodded quickly, shifting back and racing into the keep, sniffing out Jarvis. He didn't know what he would do after that, but he had to do what he could. Maybe he'd take his things and run to the woods, to another town, play at being human again. "J-Jarvis," He said, when he found him, shifting back to speak. "Sir Anthony says stop what you're doing and leave for the day, he will find you at the inn," he was trembling in his fear

Jarvis, having had much experience at this, simply gave a nod and set what he'd been working on down. He patted Clinton's shoulder as he passed, wishing him well and promising to see him again in the morning.

Anthony tore through the halls, alerting Pepper and the older Obadiah of Chisholm's approach. This was something the three Wolves had handled a number of times, only this time, they actually had decent warning.

With Pepper taking to the north, and Obadiah to the west, Anthony found Clinton again and caught him by the arm. "I want you to go south. Back towards Phillip's. If Chisholm is coming here, he won't double back that way. You'll be safe if you stay in their forest for a time."

"Should I be a person?" he asked, a whimper under his tone. He couldn't be alone again, he couldn't couldn't _couldn't_.

"Whichever way you travel fastest. But if you go as a wolf, stay low and quiet. If you see _any_ humans you _stop_ and get down. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Clinton nodded. He knew he'd be fastest as a wolf, but he'd be less memorable if human. He reached for his clothing and pulled it on, grabbed his bow and quiver. "When can I come home?" he whispered, sounding lost.

Smirking, Anthony reached around to grip the nape of Clinton's neck. "I'll come get you. Don't you worry 'bout that. You just stay low. See if you can patch some bridges with Young Phillip. Stay in the loft again until I come get you."

Clinton nodded, then reached to hug the man tightly. He nosed under his chin then pulled away, running down the halls to outside, to run alongside the river back to Phillip’s Territory.

Anthony watched the young man go, shaking his head fondly. "Pups...." With a deep breath and heavy sigh, he shifted once more, taking to the east towards town so that when the coast cleared, he could find Jarvis easily and they could once again return home.

Running human was a test of endurance, especially having raced to his pack as fast as he could not minutes earlier. When he reached the wood by Phillip’s home, he collapsed beside a tree, holding the quiver and bow against his chest, panting for breath. How would he get Phillip to let him stay?

Phillip was just coming back to the forge from having lunch when he caught the motion at the treeline. Squinting, he just made out the figure as they leaned against the tree, clutching something to their chest like it were the only thing keeping them alive.

Dropping his gloves, he rushed to cross the open grounds, not caring who the person was, just knowing it looked as if they needed help. It was only as he got closer that he found it was Clinton who was leaning heavily against the tree, and his legs -- for whatever reason -- moved all the faster. "Clinton?! What... are you hurt?"

He was still trying to catch his breath, shook his head, his entire body trembling. It was clear that whatever had happened, he'd had a fright.

Taking him by the elbows, Phillip did his best to help him stay standing. "What's wrong? No... here... c'mon." He carefully moved them to the stream, helping Clinton to sit on a rock near enough that he could reach down to cup water in his hand and drink.

With Phillip there, Clinton felt safe enough to drink. He kept watch as he gulped it down, drinking as much as he could once he'd caught his breath.

He then looked up at the smith as he swallowed the last of what he could stomach. "I... I'll stay away from the house," (he would have had to anyway, until the coast was clear. He was sure being nearby would help some, if he couldn't get in) "But please... let me stay in the loft? I'll work, you don't have to feed me or anything."

Phillip looked at him in confusion, brows furrowed. "What? I don't understand. Are you in trouble?"

"Please. I don't know where else to go," his mind was stuck in his fear. All he wanted to do was whine, curl up small, tuck his tail and hide, but he couldn't. No.  Stay human, Anthony had said, and he wouldn't risk that.

"Alright. Alright calm down." Phillip's hand came to rest on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Here, come inside. Rest and calm yourself."

He looked confused. "Why?" he asked. "I thought you hate me."

"And yet you came here looking for help and protection." Phillip stood, taking him by the elbow once more to help him stand. "I don't turn away a person in need of help."

"I don't have anywhere else," he whispered, getting to his feet and wincing at the cramping that was starting up in his muscles, overused in a way they were unused to.

"Yes, well, in that case I'll just go back to hating you." He quirked a brow at the other young man and sighed, shaking his head. "But after you've put yourself back together again. Fair?"

Clinton nodded, "Fair."

Nodding, Phillip helped him back to the house, ignoring his protests as he nudged him into the home. "I'm well aware of what I told you before, Clinton. Something has the life scared out of you, though, and I'll not make you stay out in the forge loft by yourself if something is after you. Turn right. Up ya go."

Clinton did whimper-whine then, but only a little, still clutching his bow and quiver to himself as he made one step after the other.

The attic was small, a bit cramped, with really just Phillip's bed under the window that faced the forge the only thing that was truly his up there. "Make yourself comfortable. Calm yourself. I'll be back up later to see how you're doing."

He nodded, not trusting himself to make words. He sat on the edge of the bed, peering out the window as though keeping watch (he was).

Without another word, Phillip made his way back down the stairs, stopping in briefly to see his mother and tell her of Clinton's return before he made his way back out to the forge to continue working.

Clinton sat watching out the window, slowly calming down his thundering heart. After a little while he was able to set his things down. He curled up, hugging his knees to his chest. He wasn't very good at trusting People.

Phillip worked on Anthony's armor throughout the day, frowning in disappointment when afternoon came and went, and Anthony had not been by to see it. He supposed it was possible the man forgot. Or was held up elsewhere. Still, once the sun had started to set, he banked the fires and came back inside, making up a small supper for everyone, though he made it a point to take Clinton's plate upstairs to him instead of calling him down.

By then, Clinton had fallen asleep, curled up at the foot of the bed facing the small window, as though he didn't want to take any more space than he had to. He was clutching his bow in one hand.

Frowning, Phillip set the plate of food down and moved to shake Clinton's shoulder to wake him. "I brought you food. Wake up. Eat something."

Clinton startled, eyes flying open, and going very still for a moment. When he realised where he was, he sat back up. "Thank you." He didn't say again that Phillip didn't have to.

"You're welcome." Phillip's eyes glanced down to the bow. "You know... I still have those arrowheads that I couldn't give to Chisholm. If you want them, they're yours still. If not... let me know so I can melt them down into a necklace for my mother or something."

"I'll take 'em," he said quickly. He knew he'd be able to get rid of them, or lose them, or... well maybe Anthony would know what to do, but he couldn't let Phillip make something for his mother with them, she'd lose all the progress she'd made. "If. If that's alright," he added, ducking his head.

Phillip nodded. "I just said you could. It's fine. I'll make sure they're put in a pouch for you. How long are you intending to stay?"

"I." Clinton swallowed and glanced out the window again before looking at Phillip. "I don't know. I can stay out of the way, or work or-"

"I suppose I could let you work in the forge with me again." He shrugged his shoulders, looking down at his hands, picking at the callouses and scars from accidental silver slices.

"Please."

Lifting his eyes, Phillip looked Clinton over for a moment before nodding. "On one condition."

Clinton nodded slowly.

"Under no circumstances are you to go anywhere near my mother unless I am with her."

Clinton swallowed, then nodded. "You're lucky to have her," he said, folding his hands to stop their useless shaking. Everything in him thrummed now to help both of them, but he was only one Wolf.

Phillip took a deep breath and tilted his head. "I'm well aware, but why do you say so?"

"I can barely remember my mother. I'd like to think she was as nice as yours is. Sitting with her that time you went shopping last week. It was like not being alone." He admitted, eyes a little wetter than they should for his admission. But if he could get Phillip to understand he wasn't trying to be her mate, perhaps he'd be allowed to sit with her sometimes.

Sitting quiet for a moment, Phillip watched Clinton, taking in the way his hands fidgeted and his eyes watered. He might have felt a little bit like a jackass.

"I'm sorry for your loss. I know what it's like to lose a parent..."

Clinton only nodded, not trusting his voice.

Glancing out the window at the forge in the moonlight, Phillip gave a small sigh. "Join us tomorrow morning for breakfast. I'm sure my mother will be pleased to see you back again."

Clinton nodded again, taking the food, picking up his bow and quiver, getting ready to go back to the forge to sleep.

Phillip stood, waving him off. "Sit back down. Stay. I told you I wasn't going to make you stay out there by yourself. Sleep up here, I'll take the floor."

Clinton shook his head. "I won't take your bed from you." he seemed to have found his voice.

"You're not taking it. I'm offering it. Now stay where you are."

Clinton only nodded, not having it in him to argue. He still felt sick with worry but he forced himself to eat the food he'd been given.

Once the plate was clean, Phillip reached to take it from him. "Lay back down and rest. I will see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," Clinton said softly. He pulled off his leather shoes and set them on the floor before curling up at the foot of the bed once more.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

**When morning arrived** , it found Phillip half-dozing on the floor near his bed, legs pulled up to his chest and cheek resting on his knees. It wasn't an overly comfortable position, but he at least slept a little bit, so he really couldn't, and wouldn't, complain.

Much.

Clinton was still dreaming, one hand dropped over the side of the bed, the back of his hand barely brushing Phillip's cheek. Instinctive to heal even in sleep.

Slowly opening his eyes, Phillip took a deep breath and sighed softly. At the feel of something touching his cheek, he let his eyes close again, a quiet little noise escaping him. It'd been so long since he'd last felt someone brush against his cheek. He was going to savor this, just in case it turned out to be a dream.

Clinton slowly woke, but did not move, his magic gently brushing through, picking apart the poison in the man on the floor beside him. He would give what he could.

After a few more moments of having his cheek touched, the warmth it brought with it, Phillip moved to stretch his limbs and finally open his eyes completely. The sun was already starting to come up over the hills. He'd need to get to work soon.

One eye opened after Phillip rolled away, and Clinton watched without saying a thing, or moving.

Standing, his hair going in all sorts of directions, Phillip quickly stripped down, changed his clothes, and slipped downstairs to start making breakfast for them all. Wouldn't be anything fancy, eggs, a bit of ham, but it would do.

Clinton whumpfhed, turned over and curled up, going back to sleep.

Once ready, Phillip helped his mother to the kitchen (though, it was becoming clear that he wouldn't need to help much longer), before heading up the stairs again to wake Clinton and bring him down for breakfast. "Clinton? ...Clinton, wake up. Breakfast is ready."

"MM?" Clinton raised his head, hair every which way and eyes sleepy. He smiled and nodded, pushing himself to sit up and stretch.

Stepping back to give him room, Phillip couldn't help but give a soft smile at the sight of him. Though, he quickly shook it off and turned to hurry back down the stairs.

Clinton scrubbed his hand through his hair, pushing the wild mess down and went to the kitchen, silent as always. He paused in the doorway, giving Mother a soft apologetic smile for not having come last night.

Looking up from her place at the table, she smiled in return, understanding why he hadn't.

Phillip set the plates of food down in front of them both before grabbing one for himself. Setting down, he gave a nod to Clinton. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." Clinton was still barefoot and shifted his foot just slightly so his ankle was in contact with Mother's. He didn't know if he'd get another chance, and it could be brushed off as mistake. He swallowed his first bite, glancing out the window, hypervigilant now that he was awake and there wasn't a floor between him and outside.

Nodding, Phillip picked away at his own breakfast slowly. "So, are you able to tell us now, what upset you so badly yesterday?"

Clinton shook his head. He wouldn't be able to fully breathe easy until he knew Anthony and Anthony's pack (his pack?) were safe.

Phillip frowned. "You're not in any kind of trouble, are you? Because if you are--"

"...il-lip. No..." Jocelyn frowned back at her son, giving him a disapproving look as she shook her head slowly. Looking back to Clinton, her frown turned to a soft smile and she reached to grasp his wrist gently. "...ssafe..."

He took a shaky breath. He would be, as long as he was able to hide. "Safe," he repeated, his magic flowing between them unseen but not unfelt, his eyes on the table.

Rolling his eyes, Phillip shook his head and stared back down to his own plate. "I was going to say, if he was, we'd keep him here until trouble passed." Okay, so that was a flat out lie, but they needn't know that. He didn't want to put his mother at risk.

"Thank you," Clinton replied, not looking up, still holding the woman's hand as he ate, as she did not let go.

"You're welcome..." He muttered back. He spent the rest of breakfast quietly eating, and blatantly ignoring the fact the two were still touching right across from him. Despite what Clinton had said the night before, it still bothered him greatly to see them act in such a way. Especially as he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt a gentle touch from his mother.

Despite eating, it was clear Clinton was still worn out from the day before, and giving to Phillip’s mother sapped what little he’d regained. His hand went lax under Mother's as his chin touched his chest and he fell asleep just as he was about to get another bite.

Another frown creasing his features, Phillip sighed heavily and stood, grumbling under his breath as he nudged at Clinton's shoulder none too lightly. "Go back upstairs if you plan to sleep. Don't do it at the table." He gathered up the plates and set them in the wash basin before moving back for the door. "I've work to do. I'll be back in for lunch."

He yelped, disoriented, taking a moment to register what Phillip had said. He slipped his hand from the mother’s and ran upstairs silently, escaping the ire. Out of sight, out of mind. Hopefully.

Jocelyn frowned as her son all but stormed out and Clinton went scurrying up the stairs like a frightened animal. Waiting a few moments, she finally pushed herself from the table and very slowly, carefully, made her way up the stairs to sit with Clinton, offering whatever motherly comfort she could for the young Pup.

He was curled up, knees drawn against his chest, back into the corner, hiding his face in them. Anthony said he'd be safe here, so had Mother, but he wasn't sure they were correct. Maybe from Chisholm, but... not from Phillip. He didn't understand what he'd done to make the man run so hot and cold around him.

Finally making it to her son's attic room, Jocelyn frowned at the sight of Clinton. Oh if she could speak her mind, she would certainly give Phillip an earful. Shaking her head, she moved to settle herself on the bed beside the young Wolf, wrapping her arms around his shoulders gently. "...Shhhhh..."

Clinton whined, each breath coming fast and shaken. He leaned into her for comfort, his magic helping her automatically. "I don't want to be alone again," he said to her. "I don't want Chisholm to kill them. I don't know why your son hates me so much."

"Shhhh...ssafe..." Jocelyn stroked her hand down Clinton's head gently, rocking him in an attempt to calm him. "...Not alone..."

He whimpered again, biting back his tears as best he could from being so overwhelmed by the emotions he had in this form, but he ended up crying into her shoulder until he had no energy left in him.

She stayed with him for a little while longer, holding him close and kissing his head gently. When she was sure he was asleep, Jocelyn carefully guided him to the floor, covering him with the blanket, and slipped back downstairs to let the young Wolf sleep in peace.

* * *

**Clinton slept the sleep** of the physically and emotionally exhausted, curled there on the floor under the blanket. He slept throughout the day, not waking at lunch or supper, no matter how hard his shoulder was shaken. It was almost as though he'd completely shut himself down in his fear of being sent away if he said or looked the wrong way at anyone.

Jocelyn had all but given her son the cold shoulder, frowning at him in disappointment. She would take food carefully up to Clinton, doing what she could to wake him, relieved each time she checked for breath and found it was still there.

Phillip, for the most part, did his best to seem indifferent to his mother's disapproval and disappointment. ...Mostly by staying outside in the forge unless absolutely necessary.

It took until the following day for Clinton to wake, startling around noon and curling up tighter as he tried to recognise where he was. He felt slow and heavy from too much sleep, but also not understanding why he would have slept so much. He folded the blanket he'd been lended and kept his Bow and quiver close as he made his way down the stairs.

There was a note on the table, written in an unsteady hand and clearly having taken quite a bit of time to write down.

> _Clinton,_   
>  _I apologize for Phillip's behavior. He has made it clear he wishes to remain in the forge for some time. There is food on the counter for you. You are welcome to take your meal with me, if you'd like._   
>    
>  _I hope you slept well._   
>    
>  _~J_

He recognised his name, if only because Pepper had taken the day his hands were wrapped up to show him what it looked like. He took the note to Mother's room and knocked gently on the door.

It took a moment for the door to open, and when it did, Jocelyn gave a small smile and nod of hello.

"Hello," he said quietly, then held up the paper. "I. I know it has my name on it. It's got a waning moon, a spire, a man, a hill, a cross, a moon, and another hill. But... I cannot read, Ma'am."

Her smile turned sad as she moved to pull him into a gentle hug. "I...m.... sorry." Pulling back, she rested her palm to his cheek for a moment before taking his hand and pulling him out to the kitchen and handing him the plate of food that had been left out for him. She sat at the table with him, motioning for him to eat while she picked up the piece of charred wood she'd written with before and turned the paper over, carefully writing out on it again.

He ate the food quickly, sitting heavy in his empty stomach. He kept looking out the window, wondering if they were gone.

By the time Clinton had finished, the new note was written in careful print. Standing, Jocelyn motioned for Clinton to follow her as she made her way to the front door and around back towards the forge.

He fell into step beside her, feeling bad for not having done his duty, his fingertips brushing hers as they walked before pulling back again when they got to the Forge and he shadowed her instead.

She patted his arm gently, smiling reassuringly at him before stepping into the crowded space. Phillip's back was to them as he worked, not noticing their arrival until Jocelyn's throat cleared.

Turning quickly, he blinked in surprise to find her standing there, Clinton cowering behind her. "Mother? What are you--"

He trailed off as a note was thrust at him.

_Clinton cannot read. You will teach him._

Eyes wide, Phillip shook his head quickly. "No, I will not. It's not my fault he--" His words were cut off again, this time by a hand taking hold of his ear, the other hand pointing sharply at _You will teach him._

Not understanding what was going on, but pretty sure that it was his fault after all that Phillip did not want him around. "I'm sorry, I don't-"

Turning and releasing her son's ear, Jocelyn looked back to Clinton and shook her head, giving him another reassuring smile. "...no. ...is alright." Grasping his arm, she pulled him further into the forge. "...il-lip..."

Phillip frowned. "I have far too much work to--"

Jocelyn gave him a look that said he'd lost the fight and surrender now.

Groaning pathetically, Phillip dropped what he was doing and nodded. "Alright... alright. I'll teach him to read."

Clinton looked up, confused, almost afraid to be hopeful.

With a nod and a smile, Jocelyn leaned in to kiss Phillip's cheek, then Clinton's before slipping out of the forge and making her way back to the house carefully.

Frowning again, Phillip looked back to Clinton. "...You really don't know how to read?"

"I don't," Clinton said. "I only learned what my name looks like when-" he shrugged. "When you sent me away before."

"Then how did you know what the signs I'd posted in town read?"

"I was asking about work, and Pepper read it to me." He'd been so exhausted and underfed, and she so perfumed, he hadn't known what she was until he'd gone to live with Anthony.

Phillip's frown deepened for a moment before he shook his head and sat down. "Looks like I won't be working for a while. C'mon and sit down. Let's see what we can do with you."

"I don't know why she wants me to learn, or you to teach me. I don't want to cause you trouble. I didn't mean to- I was going to stay in the wood."

"She wants you to learn because we believe everyone should be able to read and write. It's important. What if you need to go somewhere specific but you come to a split in the road? How will you know which way to go if no one is there to read you the signs pointing to the towns? You'd wind up lost."

"I've never had to before," Clinton pointed out.

Phillip rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Well there's a first for everything. So will you just sit down here so I can try to teach you to read? I'm rather attached to my ears. I'd rather not have my mother rip them from my head for not teaching you."

Clinton sat as he was told, clutching his hands in his lap.

Bringing over a piece of slate and some chalk, Phillip began writing down small, easy words, pointing to them, repeating them for Clinton.

While he didn't know what each shape meant, he was able to quickly recognise each word as a shape of its own, eager to learn so as not to annoy Phillip.

After a time, Phillip handed the chalk off to Clinton with a nod. "Here. Try to write one of these words. Write..." He looked at the words he's already taught and shrugged. "Write 'dog' for me."

He drew three circles one after another, then added a stick pointing upward to the right of the first, and one going downward and giving it a tail on the right of the last. "Dog," he said, grinning because he knew it looked right.

Scratching at his cheek, Phillip quirked a brow and shrugged. It was certainly the word he'd asked. Maybe written a strange way, but...it was still dog. "Here, try this one. Try 'cat'."

A waning moon, a moon, and a cross. then a line on the right side of the moon.

"Yes?"

With a nod, Phillip reached his hand out, clasping it over Clinton's and positioning the chalk just a bit differently in his hand. "Yeah. Here... try like this," Slowly, he guided Clinton's hand, helping him to form the letters just a bit better.

He could feel his magic working even as Phillip showed him how to form the words. It was a little while before Clinton realised something. "Some of these use the same symbols?"

Eyebrows knitted together, Phillip tilted his head questioningly. "What was that?"

He pointed to do, dog, down, door. "They all have the two moons with the line leaning on the first between them."

Phillip watched him for a moment before shaking his head. "I should have started further back than words." He gave a small huff of a laugh before nodding. "Yes, they do. That's a D and an O. Here, I realize now I should have started with the alphabet...."

"The what?!"

"Alphabet. All these words are made up of letters. The alphabet is the letters." Phillip took the chalk back and wrote the letters out one by one, telling Clinton what they were as he went.

"Why?"

"No, that's the V. Y looks like this."

The Wolf was just more confused. "Why are there alphas though?"

"There's... not. That's just the name of it."

"Why."

Sighing, Phillip ran his hand over his face and shook his head. "I'm not sure. That's just what it's always been called. It's just the list of letters, Clinton."

"Let who's?"

"Clinton, you're making little sense..."

He looked at him, frustrated. "Your alpha wager thing has let hers and you and are and why and... I don't understand!"

Sighing heavily, Phillip ran his hand down his face, shaking his head. "Alright... I think that's enough for the day. I don't know how to explain it with you thinking it's things that it's not."

Clinton pouted, glaring at the letters.

"If I try to continue teaching you right now, we're both going to get upset and frustrated. You did good for a start. We'll do more later. Just... here." Phillip grabbed up a small pouch off his table and handed it off to Clinton. "The arrowheads I couldn't give Sir Chisholm. Some of them are probably ruined, but they should still work just fine."

"Thank you," he said, taking the bag gingerly

"You're welcome," Phillip stood, his hand carding through his hair as he looked back to the pieces he was suppose to be working on. "I... should get back to work."

Clinton bit his lip. "If I can borrow those gloves, I can help you keep it hot."

Thinking for a minute, Phillip finally glanced over to the gloves, then back to Clinton. He did have quite a bit he needed to work on, and any help he could get was to be appreciated. With a small nod, he handed them over. "...Thank you."

"Thank you," he replied, pulling them on and going to get some more wood for the fire.

Phillip wasn't going to admit it, but he actually was glad Clinton had come back. True, he hadn't exactly treated him well but... there was something about the other young man that intrigued him. Kind of. Maybe it would be a good idea to try to start over. Even if he wasn't quite sure how. "Clinton?"

"Yes?" he asked, looking up.

"Uhm..." His words failed him and he scrambled to think of something else he could say. "Would...you hand me the chunk of iron that's over there, please?"

He nodded, glad of the gloves. He grabbed it, carrying it easily over to the smithy.

"Thank you." Phillip turned his eyes down and away as he took the lead and set it in the cup to be melted. "...I'm... sorry, too." The words caught in his throat, nearly choking himself on them. Not because he didn't mean them, but because he already felt horrible and ridiculous for his behavior, apologizing just drew attention to the fact he knew he was acting like a prat.

Clinton tilted his head, still not sure what he himself had done to make the man angry, but sure. "Me too."

Phillip shook his head, giving a small, self-deprecating laugh. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. You didn't do anything. I just... I'm..." Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair and over the back of his neck, having absolutely no idea how to explain.

"Thought I was the sort of man who looks for a wife?" Clinton asked bluntly.

"Yes." If Clinton was going to be blunt, then so would Phillip.

"I'm not interested in fem- in women." He'd nearly said 'female Men', and that would not have ended well for him.

Phillip spun around, his eyes wide with surprise, mouth open and ready to question that, only to have his hand knock into the rod keeping the melting cup upright in the fire. Without thinking he made a grab for it, cursing up a storm when melted metal splattered across the back of his hand.

Clinton moved swiftly swiping the metal from his hand and bringing it to the cool drinking water, plunging it inside to cool. His eyes flashed gold, though it may have been the sunbeam he darted through to get at him, but he kept patting Phillip's hand in the water as though trying to make sure it cooled properly, meanwhile pulling the poison to himself, it too new to dissipate completely. Phillip was poisoned enough, Clinton could handle a little of it in his own blood. He couldn't heal it completely, that would take time, but he took the poison of it, and it did not burn through to fat, so that was something he could attribute to quick movement.

Lips pressed together tightly, Phillip stared at their hands in the water, trying hard not to make too much of a fuss. There would definitely be a scar, no doubt about it, but not nearly as bad as if it were to happen and Clinton wasn't there. He could feel a warmth, tingling almost, course through his hand, fading as it moved up his arm, but still...

When the pain finally subsided enough to no longer feel as if he were going to pass out from it, Phillip lifted his eyes to meet Clinton's. "You... Thank you."

"Should put some salve on it and a bandage," he said.

Swallowing hard, Phillip looked down to his hand and nodded. "Salve and bandage... right..."

"Do you have any here, or in the house." Clinton held his hand between his own, looking at it carefully, still working on the long there poisoning.

Looking around the shop, Phillip shook his head, making no attempt to take his hand away from Clinton's. "It's in the house, I think." His eyes shifted back down to look at their hands, before looking back up into beautiful blue-green eyes.

Clinton looked back, his stare unblinking.

Flicking his tongue out over his lips, Phillip swallowed thickly once more. "You... you're not--"

"Excuse me?" A voice from the doorway interrupted, causing Phillip to pull back quickly, his eyes wide and slightly panicked as he looked to the new man standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but...I'm looking for Phillip and someone named Clinton?"

Clinton wasn't sure why he did it, but he stepped in front of Phillip. "I'm Clinton, who's lookin'?"

A small, amused smile crossed the other man's face, head ducked slightly in greeting to Clinton. "My name's Bruce. I'm a... friend, of Sir Anthony. He asked me to come and see how his armor was coming along? And to extend his apologies that he wasn't able to come see for himself yesterday." A faint flush rose up on Bruce's neck, all the way up to his ears. "He was unavoidably detained... most of yesterday."

"He is well?" Clinton asked a little too quickly. "When did you see him."

"Oh... he's... very well." Bruce coughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck and the bite mark that was there, only just barely covered by the collar of his shirt. "I saw him just a short time ago, in the village. He was heading to the Inn to visit a friend of his."

Clinton relaxed and stepped aside a little to let Phillip conduct business. The burn would wait a few minutes to be dressed.

Stepping forward, burned hand cradled slightly to his body, Phillip gave a small nod of hello. "Bruce. I'm Phillip. Honored. Sir Anthony's armor is coming along rather well. I'm afraid I don't have much to show yet, but, I'm working on it."

Bruce nodded, looking towards the armor before looking back at Phillip and taking in the burn on his hand. "You're injured? May I see?"

Clinton nodded, stepping to the side. He wasn't close enough to catch the man's scent over that of the forge, but his eyes had told him enough

Phillip shrugged but held his hand out for Bruce to look at. "It's nothing really. Just a mishap. I was about to go inside and wrap it up."

Nodding, Bruce examined it close for a moment before reaching into his pouch at his hip and pulling out a small glass bottle. "Here. Rub a bit of this into the wound each night before bed. Keep your hand wrapped while you sleep. This will help it heal and reduce scarring."

"Uhm... yes. Thank you. I'll... do that." The bottle in hand, Phillip looked to Clinton and then back to Bruce. "I should go inside and get this taken care of. Thank you, Bruce."

"Of course. You're welcome." Bruce turned to start out of the forge before looking back at them, his eyes set on Clinton though he was seeming to speak to Phillip. "Sir Anthony has promised that he will be dropping by at week's end. He regrets he cannot come any sooner, than that. He hopes that won't be an issue for you?"

Clinton smiled and nodded.

Phillip shook his head, not realizing the message was meant more for Clinton than for himself. "That's fine. Thank you."

Nodding and casting Clinton a knowing smile, Bruce turned and slipped from the shop without another word.

Anthony was okay, but stay put for a little while longer. Clinton could do that. He looked at Phillip. "Let's get you inside and wrap that up."

"Uhm... right. Yes. That's a good idea." Giving a nod, Phillip cleared his throat and moved to leave the forge. He'd leave his question for another time.

This was certainly going better than it had the last time he told Phillip he needed to go to the house. Once there, he asked where the dressing was, automatically moving to care for him.

Phillip sat at the table, instructing Clinton on where the salve and bandages were kept, and quietly mulling things over in his mind. "Thank you, again, for helping me out there." He didn't have to say that he probably would have lost use of his hand if it hadn't been for Clinton's quick thinking and movements.

"You're welcome." He took the salve that Bruce had given them and poured it gently into the burn, fingers careful as he worked to wrap it up.

Sitting quietly, Phillip didn't fuss or fight as Clinton took care of the burn on his hand. He simply watched him, the way his fingers moved and touched. Everything in him thrummed that this was trouble waiting to happen, and yet he really couldn't take his eyes off Clinton.

Clinton moved efficiently but slower than he might have for someone who didn't need his Magic. Fingertips brushed his skin, then stayed pressed against it as he held Phillip's hand still, carefully wrapping the white linen around his injury. "Too tight?" he asked when he tucked in the end.

"No," Phillip's voice most definitely did not crackle. Shaking his head and clearing his throat, he tried again. "No. It-it's fine... it feels... fine." He gulped and glanced away quickly, his grey eyes brighter though, lighter than they'd been before. The Magic doing its job to heal him as best it could.

It would take time, more than he'd thought - nearly as much as for his mother. Clinton knew if he pulled double duty he'd put himself at risk but... looking into his gaze, how could he not?

"Good," he said, not letting go.

Phillip stared back for a long, silent moment. His pulse racing, thumping in his veins and speeding up more the longer he just stared at Clinton. Bad. This was bad. This was going to be very, very bad. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his hand away reluctantly and cleared his throat before moving to stand. "I... I should get supper ready."

"I'll go back and bank the Forge," Clinton said, dropping his gaze and standing, leaving the house.

Nodding, Phillip uttered a thanks, his hands already busy to prepare their meal for the evening. From her doorway, Jocelyn couldn't help her small smile at the pair.

Clinton banked the forge, saved what he could of the iron and got things so they'd be safe for the night. He'd feel safe enough to sleep in the loft again for a while before coming to see to Mother, anyhow.

When supper was ready, Phillip had the plates set out and everything ready for his mother and Clinton to sit down and eat. All that was missing, was Clinton and his mother.

When he finished, Clinton paused outside, clearing his lungs of the stench before making his way back.

Jocelyn met Clinton at the doorway to the kitchen. Smiling, she took his arm to walk with him to the table, giving her son a nod of hello.

Phillip nodded back, his smile softer now as his eyes trailed back up to Clinton. God all kinds of no-good would come from this. Just because Clinton wasn't interested in women, didn't mean he was interested in anyone else either. Maybe he'd plans to become a friar or a priest of some sort? "Mother, Clinton. Supper is served."

"Thank you," Clinton said, moving to sit. "I've banked the fires for the night. I. Think I can manage sleeping in the loft again, if you prefer."

Eyes lifting probably faster than they should have, Phillip blinked at him owlishly for a moment. "Why?" He quickly shook his head. "I... I mean... you don't have to if you'd rather not. You can stay in here, if you'd like."

Clinton smiled. "I'd like that, too."

Jocelyn chuckled softly into her napkin, her eyes bright as they glanced between the two young men, noting the way Phillip's ears turned bright red as he looked away, nodding.

Clinton watched him, smiling slightly before turning to his food.

 **Once supper was finished,** Phillip made sure all the dishes and such were taken care of while Jocelyn sat with Clinton in the small sitting room area near the stairs, watching the stars twinkle on one by one.

Clinton sat on the floor at her feet, holding her hand, his head resting against her knee. He sang softly to her in that foreign language as Phillip worked and she watched the sky.

When he'd finished the dishes and everything was right in the kitchen again, Phillip slipped into the sitting room and just stood in the archway, hidden by the shadows, listening to Clinton singing softly. There was something so _odd_ about Clinton, his mannerisms and behavior. But he couldn't deny the fact the young man could sing, and sing well.

Clinton looked over the after a few moments, never stopping his song. He grinned at Phillip a bit and beckoned him to come sit with his mother.

Phillip hesitated for a moment before slowly making his way over, giving a small smile in return as he settled himself next to his mother and, maybe just a little bit, snuggled into her side.

Clinton couldn't very well hold his hand too, but he went back to singing softly to her as they had their time together, no more invasive than if he'd been a family pet.

As the moon rose higher in the sky, and Phillip began to yawn and grow heavy at his mother's side, Jocelyn squeezed Clinton's hand gently, slipping it from his grasp to pat his shoulder as well as her son's knee. "...ssleep..."

"Yes ma'am," Clinton murmured, getting up and moving to help Phillip. "Let me help you to bed," he said.

Phillip made a small noise of protest, but nothing more than that as he stood and let himself be led up the stairs to his bed. Jocelyn smiling softly at the pair as she made her way back to her own bedroom for the evening.

Clinton got him into the bed, off with his shoes, and put the blanket over him. He stretched out beside him on his side above the covers, taking up the least space possible, and putting his hand over Phillip's. He could feel the pull of magic to help him, and closed his eyes. "G'nite," he said

Humming softly, Phillip's hand moved to turn over, sleepily clutching at Clinton's before he relaxed completely and drifted off to a peaceful sleep. The first real, deep, peaceful sleep he'd had in a very long time.

Clinton smiled softly before drifting off. He was still holding Phillip's hand gently in his own when morning came.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

**The rest of the week continued in that vein.** Get up, break fast and change the bandage, work in the Forge, come back and have lunch, back to the forge, home to sup and rest by the fireside as Clinton worked his healing magic on Mother. Then upstairs, sharing a bed with hands clasped so he could help Phillip as they slept.

It was now the week’s end, and Clinton was carrying some more wood to the fire.

Phillip had come to actually enjoy Clinton's presence after all, and it had very little to do with the fact he didn't mind one bit falling asleep while holding the other man's hand. He was really quite nice to have around.

Phillip was just getting ready to invite Clinton into town with him to pick up supplies, and maybe a bite to eat at the tavern, when Anthony strolled up like he owned the place.

"Good sirs! I have finally arrived!"

Clinton grinned, bouncing in place like he wanted to run over and hug him, now he could see with his own eyes the alpha of the local pack was safe.

Phillip looked up at Anthony and gave a small smile of greeting. "Sir Anthony. I wasn't sure what time to expect you. Please, come in. I'll show you the armor thus far."

Anthony nodded and gave a wave for Phillip to go on ahead. "I shall be right behind you, Young Master Phillip." Waiting for the man to disappear into the shop, Anthony turned to look at Clinton. "Well Pup? Ready to come home?"

Clinton raced over and hugged him, tucking himself right under his chin. "You're safe," he got out, because he was still stuck on that.

Chuckling softly, Anthony nodded, hugging the young Wolf close and secure. "Course I am. Why wouldn't I be? Didn't I tell you everything would be fine?"

"I sharpened and polished those arrows," he whispered, hanging on. "I know just how much they can hurt.”

Anthony scoffed playfully and shook his head, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Chisholm is a fool who cannot hit the broadside of a barn. Now, are you ready to come home?"

"Yes, but can I work at the forge still?" he asked, looking back the way Phillip had gone. If he were shifted his ears would be perked forward, tail tucked as he finally let go.

Looking off into the shop, Anthony tilted his head slightly before looking back to Clinton, a teasing little smile in place and his brow quirked. "Any particular reason you'd want to?"

"He needs me."

"Not going to deny that..." Anthony squeezed Clinton's shoulder again as he nodded. "If you want to continue working here, you may."

Clinton grinned, squeezed him once more. "Thank you, sir!" and ran back to the forge to get back to keeping the fire good and hot for Phillip.

Chuckling, Anthony followed into the forge, giving Phillip a nod and listening as the younger man explained how things were going and what all was being done with the armor, the new way he'd figured out how to craft it so it was lighter but just as durable.

"Excellent. Good. Yes. This is coming along nicely. I should like three more made at your earliest convenience as well as four new swords."

Phillip's jaw dropped and he glanced around the forge rather helplessly. "Sir. I can assure you my talents are good, but I'm afraid I'm only one person. To fulfill a request of that size I... well the suits would take me months just on their own. I'm afraid I won't have the resources to-"

"You'll have everything you'll require delivered to you personally. I'll make sure of it myself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return home. I'm expecting people. Good day." With a quick nod and smile to Clinton, Anthony turned and made his way out of the forge and started back off for home.

Clinton was still grinning as he refueled the forge. He looked up at Phillip.

Watching Anthony leave, Phillip glanced back to Clinton, taking in the man's wide grin and happiness. Right, Clinton said he hadn't been interested in women, and Phillip wasn't blind, he'd see the two hugging. Right then. "Looks like I have my work cut out of me." He huffed a half laugh and turned his attention back to the fires and his work.

Clinton happily worked along side him, and nothing changed. He still brushed his hand over Phillip's when he could, kept watch over him so he wouldn't injure himself, followed him to the house for supper. He sat with Mother and Phillip, himself on the floor, but this time he held Phillip's hand at the same time as holding Mother's, his head resting against her knee as he sang.

Phillip merely shrugged the brushes off to accidents, and the holding of his hand to the peculiarity that was Clinton's natural behavior. When it came time for sleep, he kissed his mother's head gently and glanced to Clinton. "I don't think I'll be working on anything these next two days. You needn't come over. I... will see you Monday though? If you wish to come back from Anthony's care?"

Clinton looked like he'd been told he'd done something wrong, then nodded enthusiastically. "I will come back to work with you. Please. I want to learn, as well. Mayhaps I can come by to learn?" he asked hopefully.

Phillip took a breath, "I have quite a few-"

From her place still by the fireside, Jocelyn cleared her throat, giving Phillip a pointed look that didn't need any words.

His brow creased back at her but finally he gave a nod. "I have quite a few errands I need to do in the morning, but you can come over in the afternoon for a time if you'd like."

Clinton grinned. "I would, thank you," he said, squeezing both Phillip and Mother's hand before getting to his feet. He wouldn't have trouble walking home in the moonlight. It was only moments for him to get his bow and quiver, then he was through the door and gone on a run back to Starke Keep.

Phillip kissed his mother's head again, wished her good evening and disappeared up to his room for the night -- sleep being a thing that once again would not happen for him.

 **Clinton raced through the woods,** not stopping for breath until he reached the Keep, pushing in through a side door and walking up to his room to put his things away.

As Clinton was putting his things away, Anthony moved to stand in the doorway, a small smirk on his lips. "So. How are things in Phillip’s home?"

Clinton had just started to unlace the throat of his tunic and finished pulling it off, it muffling his voice as he spoke. "Things are going better. Phillip injured himself, your mate came by and gave him something to help, but I helped him. And Mother is having him teach me the Alpha Let Hers and I held his hand to sleep these past nights." He grinned once he got it off and sat on the bed to unlace his boots.

Anthony tilted his head as he came into the room and sat on the chair near by. "Alpha Let Hers? You mean the Alphabet?"

"Yes, that." Clinton said, putting the boot on the floor and starting on the next one. "I told him the truth, that I do not see his mother as anything other than a Mother, and he is no longer so..." he waved a hand and tilted his head thinking. "So I can hold her hand at times as well. Sometimes the both of them, and he does not send me away."

"Well that's a plus. I'm glad for you, Pup. If you'd like, Pepper can also help to teach you while you're here. Just in case Phillip doesn't explain something very well. Pepper is good at explaining things."

The other boot got set down and Clinton stood, shimmying out of the trousers. "Yes? I don't want to stop learning with him, it's a good reason to have contact, he sometimes holds my hand to make the symbols." He stretched once the clothing was off, scratching at his side and arms. It felt soo good to be out of them.

Chuckling softly, Anthony pushed himself back up to stand. "You've taken quite the shine to him, haven't you?"

"Phillip is sad. And lonely. He's kind even despite his anger. I was scared, and even though he did not like me, he took me in and cared for me until I could think again. He is good. I like to be near him."

Anthony nodded and moved to clasp the nape of Clinton's neck gently but firmly. "Do not try to heal them both on your own. You will wear yourself thin and do no one -- least of all yourself -- any good."

"They need healing," he protested, bowing his head and hunching his shoulders slightly. He was sure he could do it. He was strong. He knew he could.

"I know," Anthony's voice was soft, reassuring. "But you're not on your own anymore. We're your pack now. We share the burdens. Let us help sometimes, alright?"

"Yessir," he said, smiling a little up at him. "May I shift, now?"

Nodding again, Anthony gave his neck one last squeeze before stepping back and heading for the door. "Get some sleep, Pup. We'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight!" Clinton called before shifting in a blur of skin to fur. He chased his tail and yipped before jumping on the bed, nosing around in the soft blankets before curling up to sleep.

* * *

 **The morning found Phillip** moving about sluggishly, not quite fully awake as he started his journey into town to collect the items he required, and food purchases of the week. By the time he returned home, just shy of midday, all he wanted to do was lay on the grass and sleep.

Or work in his forge to fend off sleep... both sounded like excellent options. In the end, he settled himself in the shade of the forge and half dozed while waiting for Clinton to arrive.

Clinton spent the morning sniffing around the Keep, re-familiarising himself, then shifted and begrudgingly put back on his clothing (it was such a privilege to be shifted after so long, he didn't want to go back to hiding) and run down to the Forge. When he found Phillip asleep he lay down next to him and took his hand, absolutely up to a nap of his own.

A short time later, Phillip's eyes fluttered open and he blinked down at the hand holding his. _...If only..._ He shook his head and sighed, sitting up and pulling his hand away in order to stretch.

Clinton stirred and blinked up at him with a sleepy smile. "Good afternoon."

Phillip glanced down to Clinton and offered a small smile of his own. "Afternoon." He stifled a yawn and rubbed at his eyes. "Why didn't you wake me when you arrived?"

"You needed the sleep," he said, sitting up and stretching. "Afternoon sun is best for sleeping."

Shaking his head, Phillip stood and held his hand out to help Clinton stand. "I'm fairly certain I didn't need the sleep... but, thank you, I suppose."

Clinton took his hand, any chance to initiate touch, and stood slowly. "Then I suppose you're welcome," he said with a grin.

Phillip slowly released Clinton's hand and cleared his throat, glancing away awkwardly. "Shall we begin, if you're ready?"

"I'm here to help," he said, nodding and stretching his back so it popped.

"Right..." Phillip headed into the forge, picking up the slate and chalk again as he went, moving to settle himself on the dirt floor near the window so they could see what they were working on.

"If I can read, I can be more helpful, right?" he asked.

Phillip's shoulders shrugged as he used his sleeve to clean the slate. "Well, it will make your life easier, but yes, I suppose it would make you helpful to whomever you work for in the end."

Clinton's head shot up. "You don't want me to work for you?"

Looking up, Phillip gave a small shrug. "Well, I don't expect you to keep wanting to work here for the rest of your life."

He tilted his head, "Why not?"

"Well..." Phillip blinked and shrugged, glancing around his small shop before looking back up to Clinton's eyes. "Because eventually you'll get pretty good at this... you might want to start your own shop. Or perhaps you'll find that blacksmithing isn't for you and you'll want to try something else. Or... anything really."

"What if I want to help you?" he asked.

Blinking more, Phillip tilted his head. "Why would you want to stay here and help me?"

Clinton grinned and ducked his head, blushing. "Why wouldn't I?'

Phillip shrugged, his eyes cast back down to the slate in hand and decided to simply change the subject. "We'll start with a reminder of what we went over the last time, alright?"

He nodded, shifting to look at the slate and readying himself to learn.

Phillip did his best to explain things to Clinton, answer his questions and help him in whatever ways he could.

* * *

**Evening snuck up on them,** leaving Clinton feeling a little tired from how many times his hold on the chalk was corrected, the shape of his let-hers adjusted. He was smiling, though, and had managed to learn the sounds of nearly half of them.

Finally giving a soft groan from sitting on the ground for too long, Phillip rolled his head from side to side and glanced up through the window as the orange, pink, and purple faded to a hazy grey. "It's starting to get dark." He reached up, rubbing at his neck gently. "You should probably be heading back."

Clinton sighed. He'd have to agree. He could double back and check in on Mother. "Can I come back tomorrow?"

Phillip shook his head. "No. Tomorrow you take for yourself to relax. It's Sunday. That's what I intend to be doing."

Clinton ducked his head and put on a smile by the time he realised it again. "I'll see you on Monday, then? To help in the forge?"

"Monday." Phillip nodded, moving to stand and set the slate down on the workbench. "I will teach you more during midday break."

Clinton took his hand, clasping it between his own and nodding. "Thank you," he said earnestly, watching him as he gave what he could in the few moments before he had to let go. He stood and smiled. Wondered if it broke some sort of rule to ask to see Mother.

Giving a small smile to Clinton, Phillip slowly pulled his hand away, dusting off the seat of his pants before stretching more fully. "I shall see you Monday, Clinton. Enjoy your day off."

"You, too," He said. "Please tell your Mother hello for me." He ducked his head and slipped silently from the forge, walking north toward the lands surrounding Starke Keep.

Phillip watched him go, at least until it strained his eyes to keep watching in the dimness of light. Turning, he retreated back to the house so as to make supper for himself and his mother.

 **Clinton started jogging** once he hit Anthony's property, made it only to just inside the castle, where he left his clothes inside the door, shifted, and sprinted through the woods. He chased a rabbit, but wasn't very hungry, so let it go and finished by the edge of the wood nearest Phillip’s home, watching for the right opportunity to slip across.

It wasn't all that terribly long before the lights began flickering out and the smoke from the chimney dwindled down. A faint movement from Jocelyn's room signaled the window had been opened enough for Clinton to nudge up and slip in.

The young Wolf made his way from the edge of the trees, racing the shadows to the house and scrambling up to nose the window open, slipping through, silent despite the awkwardness of his form.

Jocelyn sat on her bed and offered a smile when Clinton dropped soundlessly into the room. She had a plate with a bit of meat and potatoes on it sitting beside her and she patted the bed to invite him up. "...You... eat..."

He hopped up, nosing at her hand before devouring the bit of meal she'd brought for him. How did she know he wouldn't have gone all the way home before returning? He finished in record time, licking his chops and nosing into her hand again so she could pet his fur, so he could help her as he rested his muzzle against her knee.

Smiling, Jocelyn pet through Clinton's soft fur quietly for a little while. Though, admittedly, it wasn't all that terribly long before she was moving to get comfortable, and her eyes fluttering shut.

He moved when she did, grabbing the blanket between his teeth and pulling it up over her before laying atop it at her side, nosing her hand back into his fur. He had time for a quick doze before going home.

 **In the space above** , Phillip stared up at the ceiling, counting backwards from one hundred, and then in Latin, and Greek, doing anything he could to get himself to sleep. When it didn't happen, he rolled to his side and laid staring out the window, watching the stars move across the sky.

Clinton woke with a sneeze, and slipped out from beneath Mother's hand, licking the back of it before he jumped out of the window. He couldn't close it back, not like this - but that wasn't important. He sniffed around, not scenting anything out of place - a Forge covers a multitude of sins after all - and headed back across the lawn toward the wood.

He paused on the edge of it, just outside, and turned a little, looking back at the house. His ears perked forward, attentive. He would be back tomorrow night, it was the least he could do.

Phillip's eyes were still staring skyward when Clinton slipped out and started for the treeline. It wasn't until Clinton was just getting to the edge that Phillip caught the movement and turned his head to look. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as he stared. "...What in the world...?"

Clinton took a step toward the house, wondering if he could sneak in again for Phillip. However, he also knew Phillip didn't believe in his kind. He'd do what he could while working with him, learning from him. He stood there a few minutes, watching the home, possibly too long.

Dreaming. He had to have finally fallen asleep and was actually dreaming for a change. That, or, he was finally so tired he'd begun to see things that weren't really there. That was the only explanation for it. That had to be it, because there was absolutely no way that there was a great wolf standing at the edge of their property.

Clinton's tail wagged a little as he thought fondly on the two, wished his magic would work outside of touch. He looked to where the sun was rising then turned, darting into the forest. He would follow the stream to Anthony’s Territory, then back home to finally sleep. He was exhausted.

Phillip blinked once and, in the course of that blink, the brown wolf was gone. Yes, it had to have just been a trick of the moonlight playing with his over-tired eyes. It was the only explanation for it.

 **Clinton spent most of the rest of the day asleep** , be it amidst the blankets on his bed, or under a bush in the garden, or in a sunny spot not far from the door of the Keep. It was lazy and comfortable, and helped with the bone deep exhaustion he was running on. Even as he woke at dusk, still exhausted, he ate with Anthony and Pepper before going back to Phillip’s home for the night, using his magic as best he could on Mother, and reminding himself that he'd have to wait to help Phillip when they were working.

He made his way to the trees at a slower pace when it got near to dawn, this time. He was tired, running himself ragged and not caring one whit.

Once again unable to sleep, Phillip had risen early and slipped out of the house to get an early start in the forge so that he could get things finished with Sir Anthony's armor. He was just rounding the corner of the house when he caught sight of the wolf, trudging slowly across the property and heading for the treeline once more. This time, however, when he blinked, the wolf remained. He blinked again, then again, shook his head and rubbed his eyes but still the wolf remained. "Not possible...."

The brown Wolf turned his head and, upon seeing Phillip, skulked slowly toward him, ears perked forward attentively, tail wagging a little.

Phillip shook his head, swallowing hard. "You're not real...." He murmured, mostly to himself. A stray dog. It had to be someone's pet.

The Wolf trotted over and nosed at Phillip's hand. He was larger than any pet, nearly as big as a wolfhound, even for being small for his breed. He could feel his magic working as he nosed at Phillip's hand, and was glad of it.

Phillip drew his hand back and shook his head, taking a step back hesitantly. "You're not real... you're not real...."

The Wolf whined quietly and took a step forward, wagging his tail. _Please_.

Shaking his head again, he took another step backwards, only to trip over his own feet and topple backwards to the ground.

The Wolf was quick, getting behind him just before he hit, taking the weight of it with a quiet yelp, but his body was a lot softer than the ground Phillip’s head would elsewise have hit.

Phillip landed with a soft huff of breath escaping him, only to scramble back to his feet, eyes wide and terrified. He stared at the Wolf for a moment before making a mad dash for the door.

Tail tucked, the Wolf ran for the wood. Ran and ran and kept running until he made it home, through the small door, up the stairs, and under his bed. He messed up.

Panting desperately, Phillip kept himself to his room that day, curled up in his bed and fearing he'd finally started going completely mad. There'd never been wolves on their property, it was a fable! A story! They weren't real. Not the ones his father had spoken of, at least. They just couldn't be.

* * *

**Anthony had seen** **his new young packmate** go racing up the stairs and frowned. Following him, he stepped into the room and move to sit on the floor near the bed. "Clinton? What's the matter, Pup?"

He whined, only poking his nose out, ears down flat against his head with the saddest look in his eyes.

"Come here, Pup." He patted his knee and scooted back a bit. "You're alright. Just come out and tell me what's wrong."

Slowly, so slowly, Clinton slinked out from under the bed, tail between his legs so much the tip of it tickled his throat. Head down he curled up, then shifted, wrapping his arms 'round his legs and hiding his face in his knees. "I let Phillip see me," he said quietly.

Anthony sighed softly, hands stroking down Clinton's back and shoulders. "And it didn't go well, I take it?"

"He fell, and I caught him so he wouldn't get hurt, then he ran. So I came home." He whimpered again and tightened up on himself. "I don't understand."

Frowning, Anthony shook his head and brought his hand up to stroke through Clinton's hair. "Phillip has it pretty well set in his mind that Wolves like us don't exist. He reacted on his own instinct. You did nothing wrong."

"It's different," Clinton said. "Healing him feels different than healing other people."

"Feels different how?"

"I don't want to stop when he's healed."

Anthony gave a small sigh and nodded. "You know... it's not completely unheard of for us to take human mates. Mine's very much human," A soft smile spread across his lips at the thought of his mate.

"The Healer." Clinton looked up just enough to put his chin on his knees, hind feet with toes on top of each other. "I frighten Phillip." He looked up. "Your medicine man, why haven't I seen him here?"

His smile turning a bit sad, Anthony shook his head. "Bruce cannot be convinced that fresh air and wide open spaces would be good for him." He chuckled softly shaking his head. "He has quite a few projects he is working on that would be ruined if he were to move his lab at this point. We make it work though. I have no issues going to him. We see each other often enough. Share a bed and warmth and comfort."

"Is it possible. To do that and keep what you are secret?"

"Anything is possible, Pup. Though for how long you'd be able to keep it secret, that's where things get tricky. I never bothered to try keeping it a secret from Bruce." He shrugged slightly. "If you were to try and keep Phillip from knowing, you had best keep a strong control of yourself when it comes time to share a bed in a more intimate way."

Clinton whined. "I'm not used to being human. I hear them talking, saying people who don't know things must have been raised by wolves. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? I didn't take human shape until two years ago, I- I don't know how to be human right. I watch and I imitate and I say the words I've heard - and then I mess up and get sent away."

"Hey, there is _nothing_ wrong with being raised by wolves. We Wolves are far smarter than those who mock us give us credit for." Sighing, Anthony stroked his hand down Clinton's hair once more. "It would be best if Phillip knew just who and what you are. Though I'm not sure how well he would take it. If he reacts poorly, you must believe that that is _not_ your fault. You didn't ask for this life any more than he asked for his."

"Even the packs in the south. True south, not South," he swallowed. "Wolves without magic?"

"You survived being raised by non-magic, didn't you?"

"Yes!"

"Then why would you think there's anything wrong with them?" Anthony's head tilted questioningly before he sighed and dropped his hand to the nape of Clinton's neck. "They're our kin, Clinton. Cousins... a few times removed."

"I miss them," he admitted, dropping his head again. "Their lives are so short."

"I know. Shorter than human's lives. Which is just frightening to think about."

Clinton made a helpless worried sound and looked up at him again. "What?" he whispered. Certain things the wolves didn't know to tell him.

"Human's lives. They're short. Practically a breath in and out for us before their time is over."

Clinton cried out, shifted and was back under the bed between one breath and the next.

Anthony gave a small laugh, laid himself on his stomach and peered under the bed. "There are ways around that, though. If you're absolutely certain."

Clinton was curled up in a ball of fur, tail over his nose and eyes as though he were an arctic fox instead of a Wolf. He whined.

"Through magic. Our magic, Clinton. It's why we're able to take human mates. And why if one of our kind took the mate of a human female, they could have Pups of their own when they were ready."

The tail moved slightly and Clinton peeked at him, ears perking forward.

Anthony quirked an eyebrow and nodded. "It's true. Bruce is going to live a very long and happy life with me because of this. It can be done, Clinton, but you have to be certain it's what you both want."

The brown ears drooped again. How could that happen. Phillip was afraid of him. He probably did not fancy males, either.

Reaching under the bed, Anthony ran his hand over Clinton's head, scritching behind his ears gently. "Give him time, Clinton. Things will be alright once he's well again. Remember, he's sick. He just doesn't know it."

Clinton wagged his tail, just once and dropped his head back down on his forepaws. Maybe. Didn't mean he was gonna come out yet, though. Maybe not today at all, chances were Phillip wouldn't want him working even if it was Monday.

"You stay here today. I'll take a trip down there, see how Jocelyn and Phillip are doing. I will let him know you are ill today and won't be in."

Clinton huffed and closed his eyes, ears half down. He wagged his tail, a single thump against the floor, in thanks.

Giving him another scritch, Anthony pushed himself back to his feet and quietly left the room, letting Clinton rest and sleep.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((the chapter you have been waiting for..... ~R))

* * *

**Thus it wasn't until Tuesday** that Clinton came to the Forge, still a little pale, perhaps a little skittish the way he'd been when he'd arrived after Chisholm's scare. "Sorry I couldn't come yesterday. I'll work hard today to make up for it."

Phillip shook his head, his own face pale and eyes dull, heavy dark circles under them. "It's alright. I was ill yesterday and didn't work anyway..." His voice was quiet, maybe even a bit rough.

Clinton felt guilty but put a hand to Phillip's, cupping it between his own. "You look poorly, still."

Giving a nod, Phillip made no attempt to pull his hand away. "Were it not for the fact Anthony came by yesterday to see how his armor was coming along... I would be in bed, still. But I cannot afford another day off if I am to get everything he asked for done on time."

"I'm sure he would understand if you needed to take more time to heal."

"No..." He shook his head, finally pulling his hand away, "I'll be alright."

Clinton resolved to watch over him and nodded, moving to stoke the flames of the Forge.

Phillip moved sluggishly through the day, only just barely managing to gather the strength needed to hammer at the heated metal and make it worth the effort.

By midday, he shook his head and set his tools down. "...I'm sorry, Clinton... I can't." He moved to lean against the wall, arm pressed to the cool stone surface and forehead resting on his arm.

Clinton was at his side in a moment, gloves shed and arms around him to support him. Easily he lifted him. "Food? Or bed?" he asked, carrying him from the Forge like he was treasured. (He was.)

Relaxing into him, Phillip's eyes fell partially shut. It felt far too good to be held like that. "...Bed..." He nearly whimpered, head lulling to rest on Clinton's shoulder. His exhaustion from days of little to no sleep had finally caught up to him, wearing him so thin that it physically hurt to move. "...and food."

"You're safe," Clinton murmured, carrying him to the house, and smiling slightly when he saw Mother open the door for them. He carried Phillip up to the bedroom, lips pressed to his forehead.

Sighing, Phillip tried to put his arms around Clinton, to keep him close. When he was put to his bed, he whimpered softly. "...D-don't go. Please...."

"I won't," Clinton promised, slipping free to help Phillip's boots off and to take off his own. He lay down with him, nose pressed to his hair as he breathed in his scent beneath that of the Forge, and wrapped him in his arms -- making sure that his hands touched skin. He put all he was into helping him, as he had his mother - as he would, later, his mother. "I'm here."

 Pressing himself in close, Phillip clung to Clinton for all he was worth, not even acknowledging when his mother appeared at the bedside, a bowl of water with a cloth in hand. "...Wish...wish you were..." He pressed himself in closer, trembling a bit with exhaustion. "...Wish you weren't Anthony's...."

Clinton gently ran the washcloth over his brow. "I'm not," he said softly. "He's my kinsman."

With another whimper and small tremor, Phillip let out an exhausted sigh, his body falling lax alongside Clinton's as he finally fell asleep.

Clinton continued to care for him as he drifted off, gently cleaning the metal soot from his skin. "I'm yours," he whispered, setting the cloth aside and looking up at Mother for silent permission to care for him, at least as long as he was permitted to. He reached a hand to her, to give her a healing boost, apology in his eyes for having not come in the day between.

Sitting at the edge of Phillip's bed, Jocelyn squeezed Clinton's hand gently before setting it back down on her son's shoulder. "He... cares... for you..."

"Only because he doesn't know," Clinton replied, gently brushing his fingers over Phillip's cheek then taking his hands in his.

Jocelyn reached out, brushing Clinton's fringe from his eyes like any loving mother would. "He... will still... care." She paused to collect her words and put them in the right order before speaking again. "He is not... first one... in... this fam'ly... to... care for... an Other."

He nodded, and took her hand, giving his magic to both of them at once. "Don't you want grandchildren though, Mother?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, a fond little smile on her face. "Want my son... to be truly... happy again."

Clinton broke her gaze to look at Phillip. "I want that, too.”

Pulling her hand away slowly, Jocelyn moved to kiss his forehead gently before stepping back away from the bed. "Take care of him."

Reluctantly, he let go, watching her once more. "I will take care of you both," he promised. "He needs you, too."

Giving a quiet hum, she kissed Phillip's head gently, and cast Clinton another fond smile, before slipping back down the stairs silently.

He watched her go, then slid down to lie beside Phillip. He could feel the man was at the end of his tether in a way different to his mother's ailment. He drew Phillip close, hands to skin, lips to skin, and closed his eyes, willing his magic to work more strongly than passive healing might do.

Phillip whimpered softly in his sleep, but for the most part did not stir or make a sound, save for his quiet puffs of breath while he slept.

Eventually, Clinton gave into sleep, as well; lips still pressed to Phillip's forehead, hand to the back of his neck, other holding Phillip's hand secure. Despite being smaller, Clinton somehow managed to give off an aura of protectiveness as he drifted off beside the smith.

* * *

**It was well into the following morning** by the time Phillip finally woke again. So slowly, he wasn't even aware it was happening until he blinked and found himself staring into the fabric of a shirt that wasn't his own, a pair of arms holding him close to a firm, lean body. So warm, so comfortable. It was the first time in who knew how long that Phillip had actually _slept_! It was disorienting and wonderful all at the same time.

Clinton shifted, nuzzling into Phillip's hair, breathing him in with a content sigh. His hand around Phillip's tightened briefly, his thumb at his nape rubbed just once, as though remembering an action of comfort as he slept.

Phillip's eyes fluttered shut again, just for a moment at the rub across his nape before he forced them open again and pulled back just enough to find that it was Clinton he was pressed against, being held by so securely and possessively. So very confused, he did his best to look around and gain his bearings. Last he remembered was being in the forge working... and then feeling incredibly dizzy... and then... just the feeling of warmth, protection, and calmness... it was odd. Very odd.

Clinton's eyes flew open, then narrowed briefly in confusion. Realising where he was, and what he was doing, he said nothing, nosing Phillip's hair and closing his eyes again with a long sigh. He didn't once take his hands from his skin.

He didn't say anything for a long while, not sure if he _could_ say anything, or if he even _should_ for that matter. It wasn't necessarily the first time he'd woken up in a man's arms (it might have happened once or twice while he was away at school near The Library, though always as innocently as this appeared to be), but it was the first time he felt like it was right to be there. And that was certainly the most terrifying thought of all.

The Wolf nuzzled his hair again, thumb taking up small circles on his nape and over the back of his hand, each breath even and slow.

"...Clinton?" Phillip kept his voice at barely a whisper, stubbornly refusing to let the other's touch affect him.

"Yes," he murmured.

Swallowing thickly, he wet his lips carefully. "What happened?"

"You were exhausted," he said, never stopping the slow touch, the feed of magic to push away the effects of the poison he'd been long exposed to. "I carried you here. Your mother brought water so I could clean the soot off. You asked me to stay. I stayed." He huffed a small laugh. "I told you, you needed more rest."

Phillip groaned pathetically, slowly trying to pull himself away. "I shouldn't have... I'm sorry...."

"Shh, stay just a little longer?" Clinton asked, weakening his hold if Phillip truly wanted to be away. Going on what Mother had said.

Shaking his head, a discouraged look on his face, Phillip pulled away a bit more. "I shouldn't. Sir Anthony is probably wondering where you are. I shouldn't have asked you to stay. It wasn't right."

Reluctantly, Clinton let go. "Why?" he asked, tilting his head slightly and not moving to get off the bed.

"Because I... you...." He trailed off, shaking his head as he moved to sit up, rubbing his hands over his face in an attempt to clear his head. "...I just shouldn't have."

"I wanted to stay.  Anthony knows where I am, if that's what worries you?"

Phillip ran his hand through his hair, not even bothering to smooth it back down into place again. "He knows where you are? How...." He turned his head to stare down at Clinton in bewilderment. "How is he fine with you spending the night here? In my bed? With me?"

"Why wouldn't he?" was the reply, head tilted the other way, now, and everything about Clinton showing his confusion.

"Because you're... I saw you both, the other day. When he came by to see the armor and you were practically buzzing with happiness to see him. And the way you all but tossed yourself at him for a hug and tucked yourself in close to him. All those hushed tones while you two spoke. I am not blind. Nor do I have any right to hold claim over you for any reason. You're Anthony's. He seems a good man and he can certainly financially take care of near anyone he so pleases." Phillip shook his head again and stood quickly. "I shouldn't have asked you to stay. Good Lord what did I do? Crying not only to my assistant, _but an assistant who belongs to another_ , for them to stay with me?!"

"Belongs to-" Clinton blinked, and it took him a moment to catch up, than sit up. "Anthony is my kinsman. I was glad to see him because-" he bit his lip. "Because even though his.... He said he was alright, but I didn't KNOW until I could SEE him." He shook his head.

Hand carding through his hair again in frustration, Phillip turned back towards Clinton, eyes wide and near frantic. "He... your... he's kin?!"

Clinton drew up his knees watching him. He didn't understand what he'd done wrong, again. "Yes." he answered. "Is that... bad?"

Blinking, it took Phillip a moment to let those words sink in. "He’s kin?" He asked again, not quite believing it. "You're not... _his_?"

Clinton tried to think of how to explain it, but rather than do so, he shook his head and kept it simple. Kept it to what he knew as truth for himself. "He is kin. I am not his. I am yours."

 _If you want me -_ was left unsaid.

A strange flutter went through Phillip's chest as he slowly lowered himself back down to the bed, awkwardly scooting closer to Clinton, almost shyly. "M-Mine?"

He nodded. "Yes," he replied without hesitation and with conviction.

Swallowing thickly, he made an aborted reach to put his hand to Clinton's cheek, drawing his hand back quickly before trying it again nervously. "W-Why me?" His voice trembled uncharacteristically as his palm finally settled on Clinton's warm cheek.

Clinton's hand came over Phillip’s, pressing it to his cheek even as he turned his head into his hand, giving of his magic any chance he could. He tried to think in human terms. Terms outside of _why not_ , and _I want_ , and the pull of spirit and heart.

"When you accepted my working for you, you gave me safety. When you sent me away, you broke my heart. When I had nowhere to go, you took me in and gave me safety once more. When you let me stay. . ." Clinton's eyes, so intense as he looked upon him, closed, and he turned his cheek into Phillip's hand enough to press his lips against his palm, nuzzle the calloused skin.

"I do not want to leave for always. I want to stay. I want to work at your side, eat at your table. I want to belong to you, however you will permit. As worker, servant, protector, slave, lover," he took a shaking breath. "Bed warmer, caretaker. I am already Yours."

Phillip's breath stuttered in his chest as he tried to breathe normally. Clinton's words settled around him like a heavy, warm blanket. Reaching his other hand up to cradle Clinton's other cheek, he stared into those gorgeous and intense eyes. "...may I kiss you, please?"

"Yes," Clinton said, eyes opening just briefly as his other hand grasped the back of Phillip's neck and he pulled him in. He'd never kissed before, but he'd seen it, and he knew he craved to _taste_. He pulled Phillip in even as he leaned forward, pressing their mouths together and lapping briefly at Phillip's lower lip.

Phillip kissed back awkwardly, groaning at the feel of Clinton's tongue against his lips and attempted to do the same in return before slowly pulling back to blink at the other, slightly panting as he ran his tongue over his own lips again. "...I've never done that before."

"Nor I," Clinton said before pulling him in again, a spark of so much more than magic as he kissed him, suckled at his lower lip, chased after his taste, hungry for more, the magic working more freely than ever before as the young Wolf put all his considerable focus on the sweet smith he'd tugged close.

Phillip moaned against Clinton's mouth, his hands slipping around until his arms were wrapped around the other man's shoulders, fingers settled in soft thick hair. He kissed back as best he could, licking at Clinton's lips and teeth, quiet little sounds escaping him as the magic coursed into him.

Clinton followed instinct. Instinct to gently touch, to taste. While the kisses began clumsily and earnest, they soon found a rhythm, tongues stroking slick against each other. He lay back down, pulling Phillip with him, running his hand down his back and under his tunic, spread broad against the skin of his strong back.

Tilting his head from one side to the other, changing the angle he was kissing from to see what it was like from one way to the other, Phillip gently pulled Clinton's bottom lip between his teeth. He sucked on it for a moment, letting his tongue flick across it and rub over it before releasing and turning his head for air briefly. He wanted to strip Clinton down, to see what the rest of him could look like, to taste more of his skin, but with his mother just below them, he knew that really couldn't be such a good idea.

Nothing could stop the little growl in the Wolf's throat, his hand stroking along Phillip's back. He panted lightly against his jaw, nosing near his ear and breathing him in.

Phillip kissed his way down Clinton's jaw, pausing to pant against his ear, nuzzling him gently in return, before continuing his kisses down the neck, licking and sucking at skin occasionally just to see what kinds of reactions it would bring forth.

Clinton trembled, grasping at him. "Off," he rumbled quietly. He pulled at Phillip's shirt, trying to get to skin.

Whimpering softly, Phillip nodded and sat up just enough to give Clinton space to sit up as well. Yanking his shirt off, he flung it blindly to the side. His eyes were blown wide, hair an absolute mess, and lips a puffy, slick, bright red from kissing.

Clinton pulled his own shirt off, his chest just as broad, a bit more scarred, and he immediately put his hands to Phillip's skin, to his shoulders, pushing him back into the bed and laying atop him, kissing him as the hair of their chests caught and brushed with his movement. Magic moved more freely now, as Clinton grasped him close, licking his way into Phillip's mouth once more.

The sound that escaped Phillip at the feel of their bare upper bodies touching for the first time was pure and simply indecent. Having Clinton above him, pushing him down into the bed? It did far more to him than he ever thought possible. His hands came around to splay across Clinton's back, touching and stroking across any skin he could, trying desperately to take everything in at once for fear that at any moment he might wake up and find it was all just a dream.

Clinton kissed until he couldn't breathe, panted against Phillip's skin and ran mouth, tongue, teeth over his shoulder, wanting to taste all of him.

Phillip groaned, his body arching up off the bed a bit and eyes fluttering shut. "C-Clinton..." He breathed out, fingertips curling into Clinton's back as he tilted his head hard to the side, giving him full access to his neck and shoulder.

Clinton buried his nose against his throat, licking across the vulnerable part and biting gently, barely a press of teeth to skin before nosing down and licking the smith's strong shoulder. He pawed one hand down his body, shoulder to hip, stopping at the top of his trousers and shifting to lay fully on him again, rocking as he moved to claim his mouth once more.

Planting his feet firmly on the bed, Phillip moved so Clinton was cradled between his knees and nearly sobbed out loud as he felt that solid hot pressure settle over top him. He returned the rocking motion, eagerly accepting Clinton's lips and tongue. His kisses had returned to clumsy and slightly frantic as he gasped, whimpered, and moaned into Clinton's mouth over and over again.

Broad hands clutched at hips, pulling him close and tight. Clinton rut up against him as they kissed, chests slick with sweat slipping against each other. Skin. Skin. Skin. So much skin. Clinton had never noticed skin before, but now? Oh, he _noticed_. He growled quietly as he kissed him, swallowing Phillip's moans as they rocked together, driving them into pleasure.

Hips shifted and aligned them just right, the hot hardness of Clinton pressing and rubbing against his own. Phillip shuddered and gasped, his hands frantically trying to take hold of something, anything. He wanted to cry, beg for something - he didn't know why, or what for.

Clinton panted into his throat, hips now moving more quickly, rubbing against him as he clutched him close, mind hazing.

Phillip gasped, a hand finally making its way up to Clinton's hair, tangling in the strands and holding his head close. He lifted his hips to meet in time with Clinton's thrusts, his own mind going into near shut-down, just begging for morepleasemore.

Tighter, tighter, tighter wound inside, like everything was twisted together so much he might fall apart. Clinton's movements became quicker, almost desperate, hands on Phillip's hips tight pulling him close, mouth moving to the smith's, tongue thrusting inside, rubbing against Phillip's with low desperate growls.

Gasp after gasp fell from Phillip's mouth into Clinton's as white hot pleasure bloomed in his stomach. Within just another couple of slides against each other, the white hot exploded through him, blinding, arching his body off the bed and up to Clinton's as every nerve ending ignited.

Clinton watched, magic flaring. His eyes flickered gold for half a moment before he gasped, feeling like lightning was running through his body, starting in his groin and reflecting to the tips of his fingers and toes, fuzzing his head and causing his heart to pound. He shook, stiff, and grasped Phillip tightly to him as he stilled, laying atop him, suddenly completely spent, barely conscious.

Phillip's arms moved limply to wrap around Clinton. He held the other close, panting heavily into his shoulder as he tried to process what had just happened. Well, alright, he _knew_ what just happened -- he was twenty after all, he knew what he'd just done -- but it took him a minute to process that it had been real, and that Clinton had come also. When that knowledge sank in, he grinned a dopey grin and settled back down onto the bed, not even attempting to push Clinton off him. He enjoyed the heavy weight of the smaller man far too much. "...Y-you... you alright?"

"Yes," Clinton answered, dazed. He held onto him, breathing into his skin, breath coming slower, and slower. "I want to stay a while," he murmured.

Nuzzling him, Phillip nodded. "Yes... stay... please..."

Somehow, the compact body above him got heavier, and Clinton slipped into exhausted sleep, the magic a low thrum between them, ambient as the last of the poison was burned away from Phil's very being.

Phillip smiled and for the first time in years, he felt _good_. He felt content and happy and whole again. Even like he could fall asleep without issue, which, having Clinton's sleep-heavy weight above him, keeping him pressed to the mattress safe and secure and warm, he did just that.

Anthony's armor could wait another day....

* * *

**It was dim outside** when Clinton woke, stretching lazily. He was a little confused at the stiff feeling in his clothing, but he slid carefully off the still sleeping human. He pulled the blanket over him, kissing him softly. He'd need to go home to leave his clothing before coming back to sit the night with Mother.

Phillip stirred under the blankets, murmuring softly under his breath as he blindly sought out Clinton's warmth again, only to settle back down once he was kissed. He continued to sleep though, a soft, pleased smile on his face as he did.

Clinton smiled softly and slipped on his boots, tying them up and slipping out of the quiet house without a sound, jogging back to Starke Keep.

It was mostly quiet at Anthony's home. Pepper and Obadiah having long ago gone to sleep, leaving only Anthony and Jarvis up. Though, Jarvis was perhaps dozing on a chair near the fire at Anthony's insistence that the older manservant needn't stay awake on his account.

Anthony, however, was wide awake, staring at a piece of paper in hand, a small smile in place, and occasionally glancing back up out the window off towards the town.

Clinton was humming as he tiredly tromped up to his room, not nearly as silent as he usually was, his boots clomping on the stone steps.

Four minutes later there was a yelp as he peeled off his clothing.

Anthony sprang to his feet and tore off up the stairs to Clinton's room, barging in, ready for a fight to protect his packmate. Only... Clinton was alone? He frowned, glancing around the room in confusion. "I heard you cry out? What's wrong? Were you injured on your way ho--ooohhh...."

Clinton was staring at the trousers as though they'd betrayed him, only further proving that Man's clothing was _awful_. Some of the hair at the base of his flaccid cock was stuck together, and there were red spots on his skin where he'd peeled the clothing free. He was also clearly confused, and trying to decide if he should be frightened or not.

Anthony's hand came up to scratch at his cheek before moving to cover his mouth to hide the smile and laughter that was trying to bubble up. For a moment, he could do nothing but stand there and force himself not to so much as even chuckle. Finally, he pulled his hand away so he could speak. "I take it you and Young Phillip had a _very_ good evening?"

"Yes?" Clinton looked up at his alpha. "Yes," he decided. What he could remember clearly had definitely been good. He looked back between the gummy bitter smelling stuff on his pants and on his groin. "I don't _think_ I was injured?"

Moving a bit further into the room, Anthony bit back his laughter again and shook his head. "No, I'd say you had a very good time... and the only injury resulted in yanking your trousers down like you did."

"Oh." Clinton dropped them on the floor and climbed onto the bed cross legged and started picking out the white stuff dried to his netherhairs (and trying not to lose any more to it). Maybe he should simply shift and clean himself that way.

Anthony grabbed the pants up off the floor and shook his head. "You're going to hurt yourself doing that. Follow me. I have the very distinct feeling you and I need to have a talk about _human_ sex before things progress any more between you and Young Phillip."

"It's always the same, isn't it?" Clinton asked, hopping off the bed and following to heel.

"Oh no, not always," Anthony left the room and led Clinton off to the washroom. It paid to be a genius and have a genius Mate. Being able to have a massive container that held water until it was needed was a God send and made keeping clean so much easier. He motioned for Clinton to finish stripping down. "What exactly did the wolves tell you about mat--uh---sex?"

He pulled off his tunic and put it aside. "Mating? It feels good, stick it in, hold on, and for Mercy's sake don't go until she looses you." he answered matter-of-factly. He was no stranger to mating in his base form. "But I didn't stick it anywhere?"

Anthony turned to start running hot water into the bathtub in order to hide his amused and fond smile, the laugh he had to cover lamely with a cough. Turning his head back to Clinton, he couldn't hide the smile any longer. "They taught you the only way they knew. Which, there's really nothing wrong with that way. It's effective, it feels good, and chances are when actually performed with a female it results in Pups." He paused then, his smile faltering a bit. "You never mated with a female wolf, did you?"

Clinton glared. Were he himself, the hackles on his neck would have raised.

"I never said or implied that you were stupid," Anthony shook his head, checked the water and made a nod. "Sit down in the tub for a little while." Sighing, he took a step back and ran his hand over his face. "I was just asking. If you had a pup of your own out there somewhere, I'd-"

"Have forgotten how short wolves lives are," Clinton snapped, his back to the wall, not coming any closer.

Anthony's mouth clicked shut and he gave a small head duck in apology as it all clicked into place. "...my apologies, Clinton. I did not mean to offend or bring up old memories."

Cint watched him, unflinching, chin tucked to defend his throat. "I do not know how it works with humans, and I have never been attracted to a human female. You are right, I don't know this form well. I told you, I've only worn it a few years."

Giving a nod, Anthony made another motion to the tub. "Sit in the tub. I will do what I can to explain things. The warm water will help loosen what has dried to you. Make it easier to remove."

Clinton wasn't willing to do so, just yet. "You said there was nothing wrong with being raised a wolf."

"And there isn't," Anthony shook his head but made no other movements. "They're beautiful, intelligent, and brave creatures. They fight for what's their's. But they also run mostly on instinct. A female goes into heat, the males fight for the right to be able to claim her and mate her, staying together until one dies, that is the way. They have no knowledge of how things work for humans. Let alone humans who are not attracted to the females of their kind."

Clinton did not look away, but thought back to the brutal battles his own instinct had driven him to fight for the right to mount his mate. To keep her until age took her. To run with his pack and his pups until time took them, and their own pups fell to hunters and disease he could not heal them of, helpless to pull free the arrows that killed them. Killed another home. It was only a few weeks later he found his human form. He hadn't turned back until he'd come to Anthony.  He'd found it too late.  He couldn't lose everything again.

"How do humans know when they find their mate, without instinct?"

"It's an instinct of sorts. Their own instinct. It's called falling in love."

"What's 'love'?"

"It's... hard to explain." Anthony shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "It's a feeling. Like finding out a piece of you was missing and that piece was now standing right in front of you. A feeling of wholeness, and content to be yourself with that person. You'll do anything you can to protect them, to be with them, to be wanted and desired and cared for by them and with them. Like you finally found your one true home, and are so excited that you found it, and terrified that you'll somehow lose it and won't know what to do, all at the same time."

"I love Phillip," Clinton said with the same bare honesty he spoke with when he was certain of his own mind.

Smiling fondly, Anthony gave a small nod and motioned to the tub yet again. "Then get yourself washed up so you don't go back there smelling of sex later. I will tell you about how this works as a human."

Clinton couldn't see why that was a bad thing, but he trusted his kinsman when it came to this, and he climbed into the tub freely.

Anthony tossed him a bit of soap to get cleaned up with and settled himself against the wall, carefully explaining how mating was suppose to work in the human world, and how it apparently worked for human males who preferred other males, and then how it worked for Wolves who fell for human males.

"So, whatever you do, just be very careful while you two are having sex. You don't want to frighten him by following animal instinct and biting onto his neck to keep him still, and you certainly don't want to get so caught up in the feeling and experience that you suddenly shift forms. It's happened. Believe me, it's very, very awkward the first time it happens. No one's really happy and you're left feeling pretty damn embarrassed in yourself. So, just be careful. Oh, and one other thing," he paused, an eyebrow quirked, "If you plan to mount him, hold off for a little bit. Human males aren't like females of their, or our, species. They don't produce a slick to help ease things along. It'd be painful for you and for him. I plan to go into town tomorrow to visit Bruce, while I'm there I will have him pour me a bottle of the creation he's made for our own use. I'm sure he won't object to giving some to you and Young Phillip as well."

He nodded slowly, and thanked him once he finished cleaning himself and stepped out of the tub. He shook, much less satisfying in this form, and stretched his arms over his head. "No biting, be slow, do not shift, wait for slick," he summarised and nodded.

Anthony handed him a towel to dry off with and stood. "Right. And from now on, you may also want to wipe yourselves off before falling asleep to avoid any more unpleasant experiences when removing your clothes."

"Yes," he agreed, cursorily drying himself off. He then grinned at Anthony. "Phillip is healed," he told him before shifting and scratching at the door to the bathing room so he could rush back and sit with Mother long enough to hopefully make up for not having been the night before.

"I'm glad to hear that. Be careful out there. The moon's nearly full." Anthony reached the door and stooped just enough to scritch at Clinton's ears and ruffle his fur a bit. "Have fun."

The young Wolf yipped, dancing back and wagging his tail before licking under his alpha's chin. He scratched at the door again, whining and nosing at the crack.

"Alright, alright. Get out of here, Pup." With a chuckle and head shake, Anthony opened the door and stood back, letting the younger Wolf go racing past him.

Clinton raced through the keep and out the door, racing through the wood toward the Phillip's home. He was careful as always, as he followed the stream, then raced over the lawn and nosed his way in through the window.

He did not see the eyes that were watching, malevolent.

 **Just as before,** Jocelyn sat with a plate of food for Clinton to eat -- having a good idea that the Wolf hadn't eaten yet -- and sat stroking his fur and ears while slowly, and carefully, thanking him for taking care of her son.

Grateful for the food, Clinton ate it all, licking her cheek in thanks, tail wagging as he nosed at her hand.

She smiled, got herself settled on the bed and nodded, patting the space beside her so the young Wolf could get a bit of sleep as well while she kept her hand sunk into his thick fur and drifted off. She made a note to herself to try and wake before Phillip in the morning (since she assumed he'd sleep the night, as he hadn't moved at all from his bed) to make breakfast for both her son and the Wolf she'd come to think of as another son.

Clinton was honestly exhausted and, once he'd climbed onto the bed with her -- her hand buried in his fur, his magic working for her healing -- he fell deeply asleep, not stirring at all when she woke that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( 'The Library' = The Library of Alexandria )  
> (the average lifespan of a wolf in the wild is 6-8 years. Clinton, as a Wolf whose base form is canini, matured by 2years. he is now roughly 18)


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

**When she did wake** the following morning, Jocelyn slipped carefully and quietly from the bed, gathered her robe around herself, and moved silently up the stairs to collect a set of clothes from Phillip for Clinton to change into. She left them sitting next to him on the bed before making her way to the kitchen to start making breakfast. Something she had not done in a very, very long time.

It was the scent of food that woke him, and Clinton's tail thumped against the bed once before he hopped off it. It took him a moment to realise where he was, then almost panicked at the sight of sun in the sky.  Then he found the clothes waiting for him. He shifted, put them on, and slipped out the window before coming 'round to the front door, knocking once before opening it and peeking in.

Phillip was just coming down the stairs. Smiling, he skipped the last step and moved purposefully into the other's space, chuckling softly when he leaned in for an awkward kiss. "Morning. When did you slip out?"

Clinton breathed him in deep, recentering himself. "Whilst you were sleeping."

There was a lightness to his smile, his grey eyes bright and beautiful as he stared at Clinton wordlessly. Everything about him sung with happiness, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. "Are you hungry?" He finally managed to ask, though he was still rather helplessly staring at the young Wolf.

"Yes," he answered, before giving him a soft kiss, then holding him close.

Phillip let himself be pulled into the hug. His cheek rested on Clinton's shoulder, and he might have maybe dotted a few kisses against his neck while being held tight.

From the archway to the kitchen, Jocelyn smiled and cleared her throat. "...Breakfast is ready. Come eat." Two full sentences. Small sentences, but complete, and with no lagging in between words. It appeared Clinton's magic was helping more and more.

Clinton let go of Phillip and looked to her, grinning.

Turning, Phillip blushed and ducked his head a bit at being caught. Though she didn't make any comment about him hugging tight to Clinton, so he wasn't going to say anything. Instead, he just looked to his new lover, smiled, and made his way into the kitchen to eat.

"Thank you," Clinton said to her as he passed, reaching to clasp her hand.

"You are welcome." Her smile in return was bright, her hand coming up to cup his cheek gently before releasing him and moving to set the plates down on the table. "Eat."

"Yes," he promised, sitting down and starting in on the meal, which tasted excellent.

When breakfast was finished, Phillip was the one to gather the plates and rinse them clean. He kissed his mother's head gently and gave a grin. "We have work to do. We'll be back in for lunch around midday." Looking back to Clinton, Phillip's eyes darkened just a bit with want and he swallowed thickly. "Ready?"

"Ready," Clinton nodded, grinning back.

Knowing Phillip was healed didn't stop him from touching him when he could, to pull away the sting from the metallic soot and keep him from being poisoned again, working hard and enjoying every moment they spent working together.

Phillip worked hard all through the morning to try and make up for having not worked at all the day before and only barely working the day before that. It had been a very strange week for him.

 **Just before midday**  he set his tools down, removed his gloves and apron, and turned to Clinton. There was maybe a devilish glint in his eyes as he crowded into the other man's space, hands on Clinton's shoulders, fully intent to get the man seated, straddled, and kissed absolutely senseless for a bit before needing to go in for their lunch.

Clinton dropped the gloves to slip his hands under his shirt beneath the smithy's apron, grasping his skin and returning the kiss, keeping him close as he leaned up into it. _Love_ he reminded himself. _That's what this is called. This feeling._

The kiss slowly turned to something softer, slower, an exploration of Clinton's mouth instead of the desperate need, for touch and taste, of a hormonal young man. After a moment more, Phillip pulled back for breath, forehead resting against Clinton's. "I've been wanting to do this since the first day you started here," he admitted, pink rising up from under his shirt and all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Good," he replied, breathing him in and grinning. He rubbed small circles into his skin with his thumbs. "That is good."

Phillip huffed a small laugh, nudged their noses together and just leaned into Clinton. He liked being held. "We should probably get inside for lunch," he murmured, face nestled into the crook of Clinton's neck, his eyes gently closed.

Clinton's magic told him he'd finished healing what was needed and the magic now ran ambient between them. He nuzzled Phillip's hair and held him close. "Eventually," he said, rubbing his back gently.

Humming softly, Phillip smiled against Clinton's skin, dotting the occasional light kiss across it. "That feels nice," his back arched slightly into the touch even as he sighed and relaxed just a slight bit more into Clinton's hold on him.

He kissed his hair, ran his fingers down his back, worked them into the muscle as he held him close, humming in contentment. In that moment, Clinton felt he would be happy to stay just like this forever.

Phillip moaned softly. His own fingers made their way up to play in Clinton's hair, stroking down through the soft thickness, then dragging back up against the flow to do it all over again. The thought of doing that while they were both, at the very least, shirtless -- hot, and panting, and grinding into each other again -- was strong in his mind, and sent the blood southward.

"The hay in the loft here is comfortable," Clinton said, nosing at his jawline, just under his ear.

"Mmhmm..." Phillip hummed in reply, nosing right back, nuzzling at Clinton's neck as best he could.

Clinton shivered, growled. He stood, walking over to a wall in the back and pressing Phillip tight against it. He pulled back enough to take the smith's mouth deep and slow, tongue stroking inside and exploring with single minded intent.

It was only once his back connected with the wall that Phillip's brain caught up with the rest of him. His arms wrapped around Clinton's shoulders, he kissed back, groaning against the tongue rubbing over his. "...l-loft... right... comfortable..." He finally managed out, eyes slightly blown.

"You good?" he asked, his seagreen eyes now flecked with gold as he watched him.

Nodding, Phillip swallowed hard but smiled. "Yes, very much."

"I won't know if this is not if you don't tell me," he said, grinding against him and moving his mouth to his throat again.

Phillip groaned again, his fingers clutching into the back of Clinton's shirt, one leg wrapping around one of Clinton's, pulling him in closer in order to grind back. "Clinton...." any words that might have come after that were stolen, replaced instead by another groan.

 _Don't get lost in it. Don't shift._ Clinton reminded himself as he caught the groan in his mouth, kissing him deeply as he rubbed against him.

His hands sliding under Clinton's (actually _his_ ) shirt, Phillip ran his hands up and down the bare skin he found, dragging his nails across it and not even a bit embarrassed by the sounds being drawn out of him. "Loft... Clinton..."

The Wolf growled again and pulled away, letting Phillip have his own feet. He tugged him toward the ladder. "Up." He would follow.

Nodding, Phillip scurried up the ladder. A rush was running through him, making him grin stupidly and nearly buzz with excitement. He felt practically giddy as he crawled across the hay covered floor and grabbed the thick blanket that lay folded under the window. Moving quickly, he unfolded it and tossed it over the hay before shucking his shirt to use as a pillow.

Growling softly at the sight, Clinton pulled off his shirt, then leaned over to untie the boots he had borrowed then shucked off the pants, prowling over toward Phillip, heat in his eyes.

Phillip's eyes went wide at seeing every last inch of Clinton, from his hair to his toes. He was beyond gorgeous! He was beautiful, as was the slender cock, thick at the base, pendulous between thick muscled thighs. And the gait of his step was damn near predatory. Phillip laid back against the blanket, head pillowed on his shirt, his heart hammering hard and fast in his chest.

He crouched at Phillip's feet, pulling off his boots before sliding up his body and taking his mouth in a kiss, hand stroking down his chest then to rub over his hidden erection. "Off." he said, nipping at his jaw, then his shoulder.

Without a word, Phillip licked his lips and sat up enough to tug his own pants off, shivering and gasping slightly at the feel of cool air hitting heated skin. He moved to lay back down, arms coming up around Clinton's neck to pull him down over him again.

Laying atop him, both of them bare, he returned to kissing him, letting his hands take in much as he could, stroking down his side, grasping his rear, his leg.

Phillip moaned and whimpered, his body moving every which way to try and get touched. He was already hard, a small puddle of precome forming on his lower abdomen. One hand grasped Clinton's back, the other curled into his hair.

Half a dozen thrusts later, they were lined up, Clinton rutting down against him, sliding along his thicker cock, as he kissed him, grasping his skin, his hips, holding on.

Clinton's name became a quiet chant on Phillip's lips as he thrust himself up in response. This felt a thousand times better than when their clothes were on. The added risk factor was a thrill, as well. The shop was technically still open. Anyone could walk in, and the loft really wasn't all that terribly high up, and it wouldn't be difficult to find them and to see what they were doing. A very small part of Phillip jumped with happiness at the risk they were taking, the thrill going straight to his groin and causing his cock to throb.

Clinton growled, lightly biting Phillip's shoulder as he moved with him. So good.  It wasn't perfect, and almost mated would have to do. He reminded himself he couldn't properly mount him until he had the slick for him, but this. This was just as good.  Curious, he reached between them and grasped them both in one calloused hand, groaning into Phillip's mouth when he stroked with each thrust.

Phillip's eyes nearly crossed with pleasure at Clinton's touch. He'd never been touched by anyone else, not like that. It was pure heaven. His heart racing, Phillip panted and groaned into Clinton's mouth, sucking his tongue, toying at the underside with the tip of his own. It certainly wasn't going to take much to get him off, not like this.

Growling into his mouth, Clint sucked on his tongue.

Gasping out a bit, Phillip lifted his hips up harder into Clinton's hand, breaking away just enough to breathe again. "Clinton... oh g-... Cl-Clinton... I... I'm..."

Heated flesh, slick and rubbing. Clinton rut into his hand, against Phillip's cock, hand wrapped around both of them to bring the most pleasure he could manage. His back bowed and he bit into Phillip's shoulder again, careful not to bite too hard, but _needing_ him to stay put, growling quietly.

At the feel of the bite, Phillip's body tensed and stuttered, a thick rope of come spurting from him, coating Clinton's hand as well as his stomach, followed by another, and another, until only a small amount was left to slip from him and onto Clinton's hand.

Clinton let go, grabbing both Phillip's hips, and rut into the hot, sticky mess between them, panting against Phillip's throat before stiffening and pounding against his stomach, coming, less than a minute later. Panting.

Phillip groaned low in his throat, his body limp and pliant against the blanket as Clinton settled heavily atop him. Panting and gasping, he rolled his head, looking off toward the wide open door before turning back to press kisses into Clinton's neck and side of his head.

Clinton pulled back, kissing him slow. He pushed himself up to hands and knees and crawled backward, licking Phillip's stomach and chest clean, learning his taste.

The sight of Clinton doing such a thing should not have made Phillip's limp cock attempt to jump again, but it did. He groaned and dropped his head back, arm coming up over his eyes. "Clinton.... Heaven help me, everything you do feels so incredible."

Clinton grinned at him and licked his penis clean before leaning back and swiping his stomach clean with his hand, licking it clear. He did NOT want to get stuck inside pants again. Nope.

Not wanting to get up just yet, Phillip waited for Clinton to finish before pulling him back down, kissing him lazily before nuzzling into him a bit. "You're so amazing... what did I manage to do right in order to recieve you?"

"You were right for me," Clinton decided, kissing his hair. "We need to eat, now."

"Give me a moment?" He asked, scooting down a bit and tucking his head under Clinton's chin to press his nose against the other's skin, breathing him in slowly. "Not sure I'm quite ready to walk just yet."

He smiled, nosing his hair and closing his eyes, breathing him in. He stretched out beside him, held his hand. He wouldn't mind a nap first.

 * * *

 **Anthony whistled to himself** as he made his way across the lawn to the small forge. True it was midday, and there was a very strong chance that Clinton and Phillip were inside having lunch already, but he decided to check just in case.

He stepped into the work area and instantly froze as the mingled sex-scent of Wolf and Man hit him like a stone wall. Eyebrow quirked, he tipped his head back and took half a step towards the door again, putting at least one nude figure into sight, the other hidden behind the first. "Clinton. You are a _hound_." He couldn't help himself. He had to tease. The Wolf instinct in him _wanting_ to startle at least one of them.

Clinton turned and grinned, moving to sit on the edge of the loft, swinging his feet. "Didn't expect to see you today, Anthony," he called back down.

Phillip was the one to startle. His eyes going wide as he scrambled to try and find his clothes, only then coming to release that _all_ the clothes up there were his. He shook that thought from his head, quietly whimpering under his breath as he attempted to get dressed without standing and being seen.

Biting back his amused grin, Anthony shrugged and tilted his head. "My dear cousin, what hardships have fallen upon you that you've lost all your clothes?"

Clinton grinned. "A beautiful blacksmith. I could only maintain my distance until he'd closed it. Then I could do so no longer." He kicked his bare feet back and forth, leaning to put his elbows on his knees. "We worked well this morning," he reported, laughing quietly at the sound of scrambling behind him.

"Ohhhh I can only imagine that you did," Anthony's voice held every ounce of amusement that was mirrored in his dark eyes, watching as a snowfall of hay fell from between the cracks in the floorboards above. "But I wonder, was anything accomplished with my armor and swords? Or just each other?"

From behind Clinton, Phillip gave a small squawk of indignation. His head appeared over the edge, next to Clinton's hip, hair standing every which way with stray pieces of hay sticking up in places. "We accomplished quite a bit with your armor and swords."

Clinton grinned and leaned over, placing a loud wet kiss on Phillip's cheek before climbing down the ladder to go show his kinsman the work they'd accomplished in the hours since they broke fast.

Phillip's cheeks flushed as he finally shook all the hay from his shirt and pulled it on over his head. Climbing down the ladder after him, he was truly confused at the way Clinton could simply wander around as bare as the day he was born.

Anthony nodded as he looked things over and finally glanced up to grin at Phillip. "It would appear you _have_ done quite a bit." He teased again before turning his eyes back to Clinton. "I've come to see if you'd care to join a friend and myself for lunch. That is, of course, if you're still hungry?"

"May Phillip come too?" Clinton asked, looking up at him with a hopeful smile. "Neither of us have had midday meal yet."

Looking from Clinton to Phillip and back again, Anthony shrugged and smiled. "If he so wishes. I don't believe my companion would mind if he did. Though Clinton, I must insist if you're to join us, you must put clothes on. I would hate for the swoons of the town's women to be on your hands."

Clinton blinked twice until he caught up. "Oh!" he said, then scrambled silently up the ladder to go put on the clothing left behind.

Anthony gave Phillip the once over, a knowing smirk playing on his lips and glinting in his eyes, though never saying a word.... Which caused Phillip's blush to increase ten fold as he ducked his head and waited for Clinton to return.

Clinton managed to get dressed fairly quickly, then scrambled down the ladder again. "Who are we eating with?" Clinton asked, coming in to quick hug Anthony before letting go, starting to understand that hugging people was something Phillip didn't like to see him do.

"Hmm? Oh, you've met him. My Companion. Bruce." Anthony returned the hug, ruffling Clinton's hair before turning to start out the door again. "He has holed himself up in his lab again and no amount of cajoling from me has been able to coax him out. It's my hope if I tell him he has guests, his manners will win, and he will finally emerge and eat something a bit more substantial than his breakfast this morning."

Clinton followed to heel. "Oh good! I want to thank him for his salve, Phillip's hand has healed perfect, there's hardly a scar."

"Excellent. He will be so pleased to hear that!"

As the trio started past the house, Phillip drew up short and glanced off towards the window that looked into the kitchen. "I should go and let my mother know we'll be going into town for lunch," He said, looking back to Anthony and Clinton. "I'll be just a moment. She was expecting us." Giving a shrug, he turned and darted for the front of the house, leaving the two Wolves to themselves.

Clinton hugged Anthony tight once Phillip was out of earshot. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you so much for explaining things. And I was able to make him feel amazing, and I felt wonderful, and I didn't have to mount him, and I just want to keep him and make him a den and never stop holding and touching him all the time," he chattered into the taller Wolf's chest.

Anthony chuckled softly as he held the younger Wolf close and tight for a moment. "You're very welcome. I'm very happy for you. It would certainly seem as though you've found yourself a Mate. Now we must just hope that, with the poison cleared from his system, he will be more open to accepting you for what you truly are. That way you can properly claim him for your Mate."

"I will let him see me tonight," he said, nodding. "Anthony - how do I claim him? There's no one for me to battle."

"Well..." Anthony pulled back a bit, looking down to the smaller man. "Do you want to know the human way or Our Way?"

Clinton tilted his head. "I don't understand."

"The humans have thier own way of claiming someone, while Our Way is much more along the lines of the way you were taught. Just with a few minor alterations." Catching sight of Phillip coming back around the corner, Anthony patted Clinton's shoulder gently. "I will explain later. I promise."

Clinton nodded. "I need to know." He stepped back and watched Phillip walking toward him. He saw Mother at the window and smiled, raising a hand in apology. He would return that night. It would be all right.

Jocelyn waved her hand in acknowledgement, before disappearing from the window as Phillip stepped back up to the pair. "Alright. I'm ready now."

Giving a smile, Anthony dropped his hand to Phillip's shoulder, gave it a squeeze and nodded. "I believe that you are." With a nod to Clinton, he turned and started back off down the lane leading to town. "Now then, I must apologize in advance if Bruce is not quite as well put together as he was when you first met. I'm afraid my attempts to center him were not quite as successful as I'd hoped they would be. So he may seem a bit... scattered."

"Does his mind run away with him?" Clinton asked, curious about the Man he'd only met briefly. The Man who was his alpha's Mate.

"At times. Mostly he just tends to think about too many things at once. He is a man of science. A brilliant one at that." Anthony didn't bother to hide his fond smile, or the way his eyes seemed to brighten at the thought of Bruce.

"Science," Clinton repeated, thinking. "Making healing things without magics?" he asked candidly.

Anthony gave a small nod. "Mostly. Though, he does dabble."

"Magic?" Phillip finally spoke up from beside Clinton, their fingers brushing as they walked.

"Mm. He's a chemist, alchemist, astrologist. Dabbles with the white magics." Anthony's answer was nonchalant, though his body language shifted a bit to the defense just in case the young blacksmith decided to try and make something of it.

Clinton couldn't understand how anyone would be against magic, he was made of magic, all his kin were, to an extent. He tucked Phillip's hand between his own as they walked, subconsciously giving anything he might need.

Phillip didn't say anything after that, just kept his hand linked with Clinton's, a small smile on his face as they continued on.

Anthony led the pair to a larger house towards to the center of town. A sign hung above the door proclaiming it to be where one could find "Healer Bruce; Scientist". Letting them in, Anthony grinned and motioned them farther into the house. "He's in the cellar, in his lab. Follow me."

Clinton tilted his head up a little, taking shallow breaths. This place was filled with strange scents. It was distracting.

Leading them down the stairs and to the cellar, Anthony shook his head fondly to find Bruce exactly in the place he'd left him more than an hour before. "Bruce?" The man at the table gave no reply. " _Bruce?_ " Still no reply. Rolling his eyes, Anthony grumbled under his breath as he made his way closer. "And they say I'm impossible when I'm working on things." Sighing and scooting around a bit behind and to the side so Phillip couldn't quite see what was happening but Clinton could, Anthony dipped his head, shifted just enough to have his wolf muzzle and took hold of his Mate by the nape of his neck, only letting go when the man went lax under him in submission.

"Anthony... that... I'm trying to..." Bruce was slightly breathless from the action, his hands clutching the table tightly.

"I know. But we have guests. Wouldn't you like to say hello to them and join us for lunch?"

Lifting his head, Bruce blinked twice before picking his glasses up and looking to the other two men. He glanced back at Anthony before looking to them both again. "Ah... yes, I suppose I can spare a little while. Hello again."

Clinton's mouth had gone dry. That. _That_ was what he wanted with Phillip. He wanted to have _that_. That trust and partnership he'd not had for so long -- that he still remembered fondly -- but with this form, with all the _emotions_ involved with this form. He could have that again, he could have it, and it would be _more_ than it had been with his wolf Mate. He was beyond words, looking between his kinsman and his kinsman's Mate, hands clasped around Phillip's.

Phillip gave a polite nod and smile of hello, missing the way Anthony tilted his head at Clinton in amusement.

Clinton's expression wasn't lost on either of the two other men, though neither Bruce nor Anthony made any mentions of it. Bruce did, however, duck his head a bit as Anthony reached up to rub at the mark he'd left on his neck, magicking it away so no one became suspicious.

"Good," Anthony's voice was off just a bit, and it was maybe just a little unclear as to if he were praising Bruce or acknowledging that he'd agreed to leave for lunch. When he pulled his hand away, he grinned to the young men. "Shall we then? I'm hungrier than a rabid wolf."

Clinton blinked and the epiphany settled in his bones. He grinned at the joke and squeezed Phillip's hand briefly. "What are we eating?"

Bruce gave a small sigh and half smile up at Anthony as he shook his head. "We can go to the tavern, Anthony." He answered, attempting to sound simply resigned, though the fondness shone out even more.

Anthony grinned and squeezed the nape of his Mate's neck gently before pushing him toward the stairs. "You love me. You will thank me for getting you out of this drafty cellar and into the sunlight, one day. To the tavern! For steaks the size of our heads, potatoes as big as my fist, and cider so sweet it will rot your teeth."

"Can I have any steak you don't finish?" Clinton asked as he and Phillip followed suit.

Bruce and Anthony both laughed outright at his question, while Phillip simply gave his hand a squeeze and shyly kissed it while Anthony and Bruce's backs were turned to them.

"If you are still hungry after this, I will personally buy you a whole new meal." Anthony called back over his shoulder, still pushing and prodding Bruce along in front of him to ensure the man really did go to the tavern, and not wander off instead.

"I will hold you to that!" Clinton laughed, looking to Phillip and kissing his cheek.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

**The steaks, as promised,** were massive and thick, making them hard to cook thoroughly -- which was why Anthony enjoyed eating there. Phillip, out of politeness, ate all of the roasted potato he'd been given, and at least five bites from the steak before nudging his plate off to Clinton (not realizing the significance of that action in Clinton and Anthony's culture).

Looking at Phillip, Clinton smiled softly, his heart jumping in his chest. It was only the scent of so much humanity around him that kept him from shifting, jumping on Phillip, and licking his face in overexcited happiness and gratefulness at the gesture. This would _work_ It would _have_ to work. Using his fork, he shifted the meat to his plate, and shifted the untouched potatoes off his plate to Phillip's, returning provision and nudging it back in front of him. Partnership.

Bruce watched the exchange with interest before looking to Anthony who simply hid his smile behind a sip of actual apple cider. Turning his attention back to the other two, he absently shifted his own plate over to Anthony where at least four more bites of steak sat waiting for him. "So, Clinton, how are you enjoying it here? Anthony told me you came up from the South?"

"Yes," he said simply. "I like it here. I plan to stay," he glanced over at Phillip with a smile.

Smiling, Bruce nodded. "Well then I suspect I will be seeing you quite a bit,"

"You'd see him more if you'd just move in with me," Anthony grumbled quietly, though quirked a brow at Bruce as he finished off the last few bites of steak. At his Mate's unamused stare, he shrugged. "I'm just saying, I have a den all nice and made up for you. Plenty of space to work and not be bothered. Plus, there's me. So...."

Bruce gave a small sigh and shook his head, reaching under the table to squeeze Anthony's leg comfortingly. "I know, Anthony. And I will. I promise. I just can't, yet, and you know that."

Phillip blinked between the pair, it finally sinking in that Anthony and Bruce were more than just companions and friends. (Yes, he's a bit slow at the moment, too distracted with Clinton sitting so close to him)

Clinton ate some more of the food, eating the steak from Phillip first. "Thank you for the salve," he said, finally remembering. "Phillip's hand has healed completely."

Looking back to them, Bruce blinked twice before a grin broke out. "Did it? May I see?" His question directed to Clinton first and foremost.

Without waiting for Clinton's answer, Phillip held his hand out for Bruce to examine. "I've never had a burn heal so quickly, nor so completely without even so much as a mark left behind."

Bruce leaned forward, taking Phillip's wrist and turning his hand one way, then the other. "That is truly remarkable. Did you submerge your hand in cold water as soon as it happened?"

Clinton nodded as Phillip held his hand out, and he spoke up at the question. "I did," he said, "Straight into the drinking water. We were just going back to his home to wrap it up when you'd arrived."

"Ah, well, that has a great deal to do with it then," Bruce nodded and released Phillip's hand before sitting back again. "Though, the salve was really more to helping with the pain. I've been testing out new salves, balms, and oils for pains and wounds. I'll put together a small sampling for you when we return to my lab."

Anthony grinned, nudging the plate away and dropping his arm over the back of his Mate's chair possessively. "Which reminds me, I need a bottle of that new oil you've concocted. The one that friction heats up and makes things run smoother? Pieces glide together nicely with?"

A blush worked at the tips of Bruce's ears as he cleared his throat and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "And why, dear one, do you require _that_?"

"I promised it to Clinton."

Clinton caught up a moment later and grinned broadly as he popped more of his steak into his mouth, he had half of one to go, still.

"Why would Clinton need... never mind. I realised why. Alright, yes, I can add that in as well." Looking around the table, Bruce glanced to the half a steak left on Clinton's plate. "As soon as everyone has finished, we'll go back to my lab and I'll gather everything up for you both."

Realising he was the one who'd slowed down everything, with his watching, Clinton set to the steak with a Wolf's hunger, and it was gone in less than a minute.

Finished, Anthony paid for their meals and escorted the way back to Bruce's home. Once there, Bruce bounded down to his lab, grabbing up empty medicine bottles along the way. "Clinton, Phillip, please make yourselves at home. Anthony? I need your help filling these, please?"

"Of course. Gentlemen," Giving a small bow to the pair, Anthony hurried off after his Mate, taking the glass bottles from him as the man pulled larger containers down from shelves, cupboards, and racks.

 **Clinton moved to pull Phillip** toward him in a loose embrace, hands resting on the Man's hips. "You alright? You've been quiet."

Nodding, Phillip let his own hands come to rest on Clinton's hips, smiling at him softly. "Yes, I'm sorry. It's been quite some time since I've been out and about like this for more than just supplies and provisions."

"I would like to take you home with me someday," Clinton said. "You and your mother, I think she would like it, and there are plenty of rooms. You could stay in mine."

Phillip's eyes glanced off to where Bruce and Anthony were quietly bickering back and forth about a bottle. "I... I would like that. But shouldn't you ask Sir Anthony about it first? Isn't it his house?" He asked, more curious and concerned, than hesitant.

Clinton thought about the sheer size of the keep. "He won't mind."

Stepping just a bit closer to Clinton, Phillip's small smile grew just a bit as he nodded. "I suppose we could come visit some night."

"That would be good," Clinton replied, leaning up to steal a kiss.

Phillip returned the soft kiss, letting himself get lost for a moment in Clinton's multicolored eyes, the other two men in the cellar momentarily forgotten.

 **Forgotten** , at least, until one of them cleared their throat and brought attention back to them. "Clinton? A word for a moment, please?" Anthony called from the other side of the cellar.

Unashamed, Clinton pecked another kiss on Phillip's lips, grasping his hips tighter for a moment before stepping away. He went over to where Anthony was. "Yes?"

Bruce stood at Anthony's side, a dark blue bottle in hand. It's shape looked almost like waves in water. "This is what Anthony had promised you. It's very simple to use and this should last you quite a while. You don't need very much." Bruce opened the bottle and pour just a couple of drops out onto his hand.

"This is in place of the slick we don't create on our own. Anthony, I trust, instructed you on how mounting goes when you're in this form and with another male?"

Clinton frowned slightly. "He said that there is no slick like with a bitch," he said simply. He knew the male had a separate hole, but it was not uncommon for wolves to show dominance on occasion in that way. He did know his cock was unsheathed now, which made it drier, and that it was thicker in comparison, though he'd noted earlier that his was more slender than Phillip's. That the tip of Phillip’s cock was blunter.

Tilting his head, Bruce quirked a brow and slowly turned to level his Mate with a Look. "I thought you said you explained everything to him."

"I explained _almost_ everything." Anthony pointed out, giving a small shrug. When Bruce continued to stare at him, he frowned and shrugged. "What was I suppose to do? Draw a diagram of the different ways a human male can be mounted?"

Turning back to Clinton, he continued, "By the way, having him in a position that mimics that of a wolf bitch is quite enjoyable for you both. Plus, when it comes time to claim him, that's the best way to be in him and bite his neck at the same time. A bit more natural feeling, that way. Scratches that instinctual itch that's going to start gnawing at you."

Clinton tilted his head curiously, looking between them. "But I must first see that what I am does not disgust him," he said reasonably.

Bruce nodded. "Yes. That's definitely the first thing you should do before claiming him." He spoke like a man who had first hand experience in that issue, but said nothing more on the matter. Instead, he turned the attention back to the lubricant that had been a near gel like substance in his hand that was now a puddle of liquid.

"This changes states as it warms. To a degree. It starts off viscous, it was thick and goopy? That's viscous. Now that's it's warm, it's become a liquid. It now will act just like the slick produced by a wolf bitch. The friction created between you and Phillip will keep it from drying and needing to be reapplied. Also, it can be wiped clean with a cloth once you're finished -- it won't stain like a normal oil will, and it comes off with water. It's really quite remarkable. Here, put a little on your hand and then rub them together, watch what happens."

So curious, Clinton eagerly held his hand out for the two drops that were put upon it. He poked at it in his hand with his fingertips, and his eyes widened as what started out small and thick ended up almost more because of how oily it was. He then rubbed his hands together and they felt pleasantly warm. "Oh!"

Bruce and Anthony both grinned, proud with their creation and that it would be able to help another Wolf/Man couple, as well.

"See? And you can keep rubbing your hands together for hours and they'll stay just as slick. But if you stop for more than five minutes, the oils will dry and you'll need to wipe them off and reapply."

Clinton stopped rubbing and sniffed at it. And of course, being the curious Pup he was, went to lick at it.

Anthony reached out, shaking his head as he stopped him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. It's not entirely harmful to ingest... it just does not taste very good at all. Best wipe it off yourself and him if you plan to do any licking clean afterwards."

Clinton pouted. "I _like_ licking him clean!" he protested.

"Oh trust me, I understand that completely. But I learned the hard way just how bad this actually tastes. You are able to lick his stomach and cock clean, just avoid cleaning up anywhere the slick has touched." Anthony warned, handing him a towel from off the table. "We're--"

" _Anthony_ is working on figuring out how to make it somehow taste better." Bruce shook his head at the idea. They'd yet to figure it out.

"When you do, I can have some?" Clinton asked, wiping off his hands. It didn't smell weird, but he was going to trust on the taste part. He didn't want to spend the next hour making _yuck-I-licked-stuff_ faces.

"You have my word." Anthony squeezed Clinton's shoulder gently before nodding to the basket that held a few other small bottles. "Those are all salves and balms and such for burns and other aches and pains that may come up. Don't get them confused with this. It's why we put this oil in a unique bottle. Best to keep them in completely separate places."

Clinton nodded. There was a pocket in the pants he was borrowing, he could hide it in the loft perhaps. "I will," he said, sticking it in his pocket and taking the basket.

"Oh! I want to bring Phillip and Mother to visit, if things go well when he knows what I am."

Anthony's smile turned soft and understanding. "If things go well when he finds out, you're more than welcome to make your own den for him. There's plenty of space."

Clinton hugged him then drew back, glancing at Bruce, not sure he would be offended. He'd already offended one Man by his instincts of wanting to show some sort of affection to his kinsman, as it was. He had so many questions, whether Phillip could move his forge closer, or if they could split between. Would it be wrong for him to go back with Phillip, or if he could bring them to stay with the pack, but most of all. . . he looked back at Phillip, his smile soft and sure. He'd have to find for certain first.

 **Phillip had busied himself** on the other side of the room, absently flipping through one of Bruce's books while the other three were conversing.

Smiling, Anthony squeezed Clinton's shoulder again and gave him a small nudge. "Go on. You both should return to your work. Or at the very least to his mother's home so she doesn't start to worry. I will see you tonight, for a few minutes, yes? Before you return to sit with Jocelyn?"

"Yes," Clinton promised. He was sure he could return to the Keep then back to the house before Phillip fell asleep.

"Good. Then I will see you then. Go on now. Take him home before he starts to think he's been abandoned." Anthony gave him another small nudge off toward Phillip.

Clinton grinned at them both and scampered over, wrapping an arm around Phillip from behind and nosing the taller young man's shoulder.

Jumping just a bit, Phillip turned in Clinton's arm, smiling brightly as he set the book down and glanced to the basket hanging off the other arm. "Are we set to go?"

"We are," he said, taking a kiss before stepping back and taking his hand. "We should go let your Mother know I didn't kidnap you for good."

"Mm, I'm sure she assumes I've been kidnapped and hauled deep off into the woods by those mystical Wolves my father always spoke of." He teased, nudging Clinton's shoulder gently. The malice and distaste for such nonsense was gone from his voice as they made their way up the stairs to leave.

"Would that be so bad?" Clinton quipped once they reached the light of day, walking hand in hand with him back toward the home and forge. It hadn't sounded as hateful as it used to. That had to be something, right?

Phillip shrugged. "Depends on if someone plans to come rescue me or if I'm left to fend for myself."

"I'll be with you," he teased slightly, bumping hips with him. "Do you think you could believe in them?"

"Maybe... I'm not sure." Phillip stared straight ahead thoughtfully for a moment. "There must be something to magic at least. I'm fairly convinced you've put some kind of enchantment over me." He paused them at the edge of town, turned and slipped his hands over Clinton's hips. "Because no one, and nothing, has ever made me feel the way you do."

Clinton blushed a little, something rare for him. He grinned at Phillip. "Maybe the poison of the metals you worked are finally gone from your mind. You feel well, because you are well."

Phillip shrugged, dipped down for another kiss and smiled. "Possibly. Though, how they were removed was surely true magic."

Clinton clasped his hand briefly before simply holding it and keeping his own counsel the rest of the walk back.

 **Once home, the basket of salves** and balms and oils set up in the forge within easy reach should they be needed, Phillip stood at the corner of the building, kissing Clinton softly, wishing he would stay longer, but understanding about needing to get home. Especially as the young man was still wearing Phillip's clothes.

Pulling back from the kiss gently, he sighed and smiled. "I will see you in the morning. If you arrive early enough, I'll be sure to save some breakfast for you. But... you'd better get going before it gets any darker. Mother and I both worry about you wandering the woods alone in the dark."

"I'll be fine," Clinton promised, giving him another soft kiss. He'd hidden the mounting oil in the loft when Phillip was putting things away. He grinned and waved at Mother through the window before jogging to the edge of the property, a straighter line to Starke Keep than through town would have been. He went far enough in to be unseen, stripping down and folding the clothes to hide beneath a bush before shifting.  Surely Anthony would understand.

He shook out his fur and grinned to himself as he started trotting the edge of the stream. The smell of the wood was lovely, and he may have detoured to playfully chase a rabbit after a few minutes before he felt a burning BITE to his flank.

Yelping, the young wolf looked back, finding the burn connected to an arrow. Fearful, he started to run, and another hit him just behind his right shoulder, any farther back and it would have found his heart. The pain was incredible, and his mind took him back to when he was just a tiny Newpup, seeing his pack savaged by such arrows. It didn't take many. The first would ensure being unable to shift, and if you couldn't reach the shaft with your muzzle, you couldn't pull it out. He tumbled over the edge of a small ravine to land at the edge of the stream, his back half in the water.

Whining in pain, he lay still, panting for breath as the wounds burned.

* * *

**Phillip sighed contently** , a smile on his face as he finally returned to his shop, putting out the fires and making sure things were set up for the following morning. His eyes trailed up to the loft, and he stood there, staring at the hay and blanket still rumpled from that afternoon's romp with Clinton. He was so lost in his thoughts of the other man, that he wasn't even aware of someone sneaking up on him until it was too late.

He stumbled forward, head connecting with the chimney of his small fireplace, sending his world spinning as large, meaty hands grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him back around, back shoved into the wall harshly.

"So that's why you decided to stop making me arrows, boy? Your mutt of a helper. You were harboring a Wolf this whole time, were you?"

Chisholm's breath stank of liquor, causing Phillip to cough and shake his head, things still spinning around him. "N-No... I don't... I don't know-"

A thick hand came around to hold him by the throat, lifting his feet a good two inches off the ground. "Liar!"

An unearthly howl, sounding pained, and angry, and dying, was the only warning before an injured brown Wolf -- broken arrow shafts in his left flank and right shoulder -- leaped at Chisholm. Forepaws slammed into him, powerful jaws around his throat cutting off his breath... his blood. The Wolf tore the Man's throat out with a merciless snarl before the it yelped, falling to the ground as the body wobbled and fell with a heavy thud.

The Wolf lay unmoving only a moment before nosing at Phillip, checking for injury, each breath a rattling whine.

Phillip slumped to the floor, pulling in sharp, hard gasps of breath. An angry red hand print ringed his neck and the world was tilting instead of spinning. He stared, blinking but not really seeing, as the Wolf nosed at him.

Healing. Healing. He was dying, and he needed to _heal_ while he still could. He nosed at Phillip's throat, leaving a tingle of magic behind before limping his way to the house. He had to help. He had to finish what he'd begun. He couldn't leave her with the fester still there, waiting and willing to take over once more.

Inside, Clinton found Mother and nosed her ankle, pushing all his magic to her, burning away the last of the dark that threatened her with all the energy he had left in him, whining in pain at the burningburning _burning_ of the arrowheads promising to destroy him.

 **A mage was riding past** when he saw the tip of a Wolf's tail disappear into the house. He went to the forge to see what had happened, and found Phillip there. "Boy, are you all right?" he asked.

Phillip blinked quickly, shook his head and pulled in a sharp gasp of air. His throat still burned, but not nearly as badly as before. Eyes wide, he stared up at the dark stranger and nodded, then shook, his head. "I... what... I...."

From inside the house, Jocelyn's voice rose and echoed for the first time in nearly ten years. A desperate scream for help that had Phillip scrambling to get to his feet again.

The mage followed him to the house and stopped in the door at what he saw. A Youngling Wolf, and it most certainly was a Wolf and not a wolf, he knew the difference. The hide was almost steaming where the arrows were imbedded, eyes glazed with pain and nose pressed to the skin of the woman. He could feel the magic the Wolf Pup was expending to heal her.

 _Heal, heal, heal. Don't let it all be for nothing. Heal, Mother. Don't leave Phillip alone, don't leave her to succumb. Heal hea-_ The young wolf whined and trembled.

The man disappeared in a swirl of his cloak.

Phillip froze where he stood, staring at the animal lying at his mother's feet. It never even registered to him that the mysterious man had just disappeared into thin air behind him. He rushed into the room and gave a small cry of dismay as he stared down at the arrows sticking up from the poor thing, his heart breaking even more as he realized this was the same animal that had approached him before, and he'd run from. It was a Wolf. Like his father had told him stories of. The magical ones sent to protect.

Jocelyn dropped to her knees, pulling her shawl from her shoulders and pressing it to the wound at Clinton's shoulder, petting his head gently. "Clinton, shhhh... no... save your magic... shhh..." She soothed, her words coming easier than ever before as she tried to control the bleeding.

Phillip's eyes went even wider as he heard his mother speaking, caught the name she'd said and looked back down to the Wolf. "C... Clinton?"

His ears flicked at the sound of Phillip's voice. Each breath accompanied a pained whine, quiet as though even that was almost too much effort. He turned his head and looked at Phillip with kind, sad eyes. He struggled to his feet, only crawling across the floor a few feet and nosed at him, still trying to keep contact with Mother. He felt the break of the final barrier for her healing. He did it. He didn't leave her undone. He rested his muzzle on the ground between the two, watching Phillip without malice, without judgement. After all, he himself had sharpened the very arrowheads poisoning him.

His whining quieted and he watched them -- simply breathing was almost too much, now.


	12. Chapter 12

 

* * *

**At Starke Keep** , the mage appeared before the alpha of the pack. "Anthony. Young Wolf, brown, he one of yours?"

Anthony startled when the mage appeared in front of him, a quick retort about just popping up on people silenced his tongue as he took in the sound and worry in his friend's voice. "Clinton. Yes. What's happened to him?"

"Does your mate still have the magics that can heal a Wolf?" he asked. "Silver arrows. He tore the throat out of a Man and is now lying at a woman's feet, arrows in his hide. I could feel him working his magic and didn't want to disrupt that, but Anthony, it didn't look good."

A slew of curses rose up out of Anthony as he stood and shed his clothes without a second thought. "Get to Bruce. Tell him Clinton has been hurt by his potential Mate's stupidity. Take him back there as fast as you can. If I don't beat you there, I will see you when I arrive."

Without another word, Anthony made a leap for the window, shifting into a grand black Wolf in the process and tore off across his property, racing Death himself to get to Clinton as fast as he could.

The mage disappeared before Anthony's paws hit the ground, re-appearing in the basement of Anthony's Mate. "Bruce, Clinton's been hurt, and I quote your Mate, 'by his potential Mate's stupidity'. He's been shot with silver arrows, Anthony told me to bring you to them."

Bruce's eyes went wide. "Oh no...." Shaking his head quickly, he stood, gathering up a couple glass bottles as well as a thick, heavy, dark blue velvet blanket. "I need to get there as quickly as possible, Rhodes. Time is not on our side."

"Of course," he answered, wrapping an arm around Bruce and his kit. With a turn they were on the lawn, just by the door to the home, he didn't want to appear in the door and block Anthony's potential path.

 

 

* * *

**Phillip stared down at the Wolf,** shaking his head in disbelief. "No... no please... please d-don't...Clinton?" He reached out, shakily stroking his hand down Clinton's head and ears. Those eyes were all Clinton, that's how he knew for certain that what he'd been told by his mother was true, and now he felt the horrible grip of guilt twisting through him. Those were his arrows sticking out of the Wolf. Infused with iron and silver, not for showmanship, but for death.

The death of a magical being.

And to make matters worse, Phillip had run from this beautiful creature. "Please Clinton... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... please... don't leave me...."

The Wolf licked his hand, nuzzling his fingers. He pushed some magic into him to finish healing his throat. Love. Love was wanting the best for your Mate. He made no sound, now, laying there, gasping each shallow breath as he watched Phillip with no judgement, no accusation, Only love.

Tears streaming down his face, Phillip cried out like someone was yanking a part of him away as his mother gently pulled him back from Clinton. He fought and sobbed to get back to him, not caring that Bruce was suddenly at Clinton's side, a very naked Anthony on the other side, taking the bundle from his Mate and laying the things out carefully.

Anthony brushed his hand down Clinton's head. "You're going to be alright, Pup. Just stay still." Worry creasing his brow, he looked up to meet Bruce's determined frown. "He hasn't much magic left in him. Do you think--"

"It's enough. Just keep him still while I take the arrows out. Rhodes, I need you to have the two green bottles open and ready. As soon as the arrow head is removed, pour the contents of one into each wound."

"Yes," Rhodes agreed, crouching with them as he opened the bottles.

Between them, still struggling for breath, Clinton's eyes were on Phillip. He gathered what was left of his energy and wagged his tail once. Even if he died, it'd be okay. His eyes squeezed shut and he yelped as the first arrow was pulled, wound black and burned, struggling against Anthony's hold as the medicine was poured into his flank. It was a high, breathy and whimpering cry, followed quickly by another, the Wolf struggling as the potion was poured into that wound as well. It hurt SO MUCH.

Anthony held Clinton as still as he could while Bruce's hands hovered over the wounds. Dark brown eyes lifted as Clinton continued to struggle and he finally nodded for Jocelyn to let Phillip go. Maybe having Phillip near him would calm the young Wolf.

Phillip scrambled forward, lifting Clinton's head to rest on his lap, all while apologizing and begging for him to be alright.

Bruce's eyes were closed, his brow creased in determination and focus. A faint green glow hazing around his hands, and the wounds, as he muttered and chanted under his breath. The more he chanted, the brighter the glow grew, until it was near blinding.

Clinton ceased struggling, high, pained whines leaving his throat, growing slightly stronger as time passed. He licked at Phillip's fingers, watching him as though he were determined he be his last sight, and when the light became blinding, his eyes closed and he went still. 

But breath _did_ come.

Bruce continued to chant until the light burst around them like an explosion of white and green. When it did, he sank backward, a dazed and confused look on his face.

Anthony gave a soft laugh as the light shattered. He held Clinton for a moment longer, hand over his heart and feeling every steady beat and breath that rose and fell from his body. Looking to Phillip, he gave a small nod. "He'll live..."

"C-Clinton? Clinton?" Phillip swallowed hard, gently shaking the Wolf in his lap.

"Don't. Don't... don't wake him yet." Bruce shook his head, struggling to push himself upright until his Mate came around, the blanket wrapping around him protectively. "He needs... plenty of rest... to regenerate all the... the magic he's lost."

Anthony sighed, pressing his lips to Bruce's damp forehead, his arms protective and gentle around him. "He's not the only one. You're coming home to your den and you're resting there. Clinton will be fine now." Looking to the Mage, Anthony gave a nod. "Take him back to the Keep. You know where our den is, put him there and stay with him until I arrive." With a soft, gentle kiss, Anthony carefully handed his Mate off to Rhodes. "Be careful with him."

"Haven't I always been, old friend?" Rhodes said, taking the exhausted man close and disappearing with him a moment later.

Clinton lay, his head in Phillip's lap, still but for the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

Phillip stroked his shaking hand down Clinton's fur while his mother and Anthony looked on. Anthony, unashamed of his naked state, turned to Jocelyn. "I will help them to a bed. Right now they need each other far too much to try and separate them."

Jocelyn nodded in agreement. "My bedroom is just at the end of this hall. The door on the right before you reach the kitchen. You may put him in there." Carefully, she reached to take Phillip's arm. "Phillip? My sweet boy? We're going to put Clinton in my room. You need to stand so Sir Anthony can--"

"No. I... I'll carry him... I can carry him."

Anthony exchanged glances with Jocelyn and nodded, giving Phillip room to stand and pick the healing Wolf up carefully in his arms. He watched the young man carry Clinton off down the hall, disappearing into the bedroom a moment later. Looking back to Jocelyn, he sighed. "We will return tomorrow to check on him. For now, let them rest. You, as well."

With a small bow, the grand black Wolf returned once more, lowered his front end respectfully once more, before turning and darting from the house, hurrying to return to his own home and Mate.

* * *

**It was nearly dawn** when Clinton opened his eyes. He felt _awful_ but the familiar scent of Phillip kept him from panicking. He whimpered, nosing at the Man beside him, no energy to move more than that.

Phillip hadn't slept much, staying up instead to keep watch over Clinton, to make sure the Wolf's chest and stomach continued to move with breath. When he felt the nose to his side and heard the whimper, his eyes (which had only been resting) shot open. "Clinton?"

Another soft whine, and he nosed his side again. Everything _hurt_.

Giving a small smile, Phillip scooted down so he was laying beside the Wolf, gently lifting Clinton's head to rest it on his arm, his other hand smoothing down the soft thick coat of fur. "Shhhh... you're okay now..."

Clinton lapped at his cheek, no energy to do anything else. He'd said his name. He knew. He didn't hate.

He'd found his final Mate.

Phillip's smile grew at the kisses, something breaking inside him and coiling up warm and tight in his chest and stomach. Giving a soft sob, he moved to press himself close to the Wolf, face buried in the fur. "I thought I'd lost you... those were my arrowheads... I... God! Chisholm has been buying arrowheads from me from the start. I..." how many more good Wolves had Phillip had a hand in murdering? "I'm so sorry, Clinton..."

No... no, it was his fault too. He helped make the arrowheads, to stay close. He should have tried harder to stop Phillip, but they would have come from somewhere. Arrowheads like that always came from somewhere. He whined, licking at Phillip's hair, his cheek, his shoulder, thumping his tail weakly. _Don't be sad, don't be hurt. Don't hurt your heart._ He struggled to bring forth some magic, but nothing needed healing.

The bed dipped as Jocelyn sat on the other side of them, stroking her hand gently down Clinton's fur first, then her son's head. "Shhh... this was not your fault, Phillip. Had Clinton told you before what the arrowheads were for, you wouldn't have believed. What you were not aware of, could never be your fault," she soothed, taking a damp cloth to wipe across the wound on Clinton's shoulder. "And you, my dear..." she chided gently to the Wolf, "need to stop trying to use your magic right now. Rest, young one. Your packmates will be coming by later to check on you."

Clinton whined again, tipping his head upside down to lick under her chin before nosing at Phillip again with another weak wag of his tail. He wasn't very good at listening and there was just the barest tickle of magic, even if all it did was take away some of Phillip's exhaustion.

Jocelyn leaned down close to Clinton's ear. "Stop using what little magic you have. Or when Sir Anthony and his Mate arrive I will ask them to make sure you stay asleep until you've recovered completely."

His ears dropped and tail tucked between his legs and he gave her the original puppy look.

Phillip did his best to hold Clinton tight but gently. "How do you know he's trying to use magic?" he asked, glancing up to his mother.

The smile he got in return was soft and full of love as Jocelyn reached out to brush her hand against his cheek. "Because you're sad. And because if it were me, I'd be doing anything I could to make you not sad, including using magic that I didn't really have enough of quite yet." Leaning over, she kissed Phillip's head before kissing Clinton's and standing. "Plus, I've come to know your Pup these past few weeks. He uses whatever magic he can to heal those he cares for."

The young Wolf huffed, his ears perking briefly before he nosed Phillip again. His energy spent, he fell back asleep.

* * *

**Across the woods** , to the north, Anthony sat out in the early morning sun, staring off through the trees at things beyond sight. Bruce was settled and resting comfortably in his den, surrounded by comfortable pillows and blankets, all of which had come from Anthony's bed so they held his scent.

Stretching finally, he leaned back, face tilted skyward, and sighed. "You know, it's not wise to try and sneak up on a Wolf, Rhodes. Thought you'd have learned that, by now."

"That's why I wasn't sneaking. If I was sneaking, I'd be coming from the opposite direction." The man sat down beside the Wolf, looking over at him. "When did you get a Pup? When I saw you a decade ago you had none."

Chuckling softly, Anthony shook his head and shifted too look at him. "I didn't have much when you last saw me." Taking a breath, he stretched again. "Clinton wandered in a month or so ago. I happened upon him once while checking up on Young Phillip and my armor."

"Mhm," Rhodes nodded then thought a moment. "I should do something about the body in the Forge soon."

"Pepper would love to rip him to shreds, you know? There's enough meat on him to keep us fed for a few weeks. Perhaps a bit tough though... best to beat him to soften things up first. Hit him against a tree a few times."

It was a testament to how used he was to being around Wolves that the thought didn't sicken him. Still. "It may be best to leave no remnant - for him to have disappeared."

Sighing dramatically, Anthony waved his hand. "Fine, do it your way. I'll tell Pepper she must continue to hunt if she wishes to eat."

"Do you really want to eat man-meat?" he asked. "Considering it's almost cannibalism?"

"I suppose not, no." There was a moment of hesitation. "He killed my pack, Rhodes. My parents. He's the reason Pepper is leary of males and why she can't have Pups. He killed Phillip's father and would have killed his mother too, had I not shown up when I did and sent him running. Now he went after Clinton, who's still just a Pup. And he went after Phillip. I would love nothing more than to tear him to pieces and scatter them across the countryside."

Rhodes thought about it for a while, then nodded. "Best get to it before people start looking for him. Take his clothing and put it in the forge, it will be burnt in minutes. Include any jewelry. Everything that is not flesh and bone - then scatter him so there is nothing to identify, not a bone, not a tooth."

Grinning, Anthony gave a nod. "I will give Pepper the good news. I should check on Bruce before I go though. He shouldn't have used as much of his magic as he had."

"I'll stay with him, I'm guessing Obadiah is still sulking in his corner of the keep?" Rhodes asked.

He nodded. "Thank you." Standing, Anthony stretched out his limbs before shifting to Wolf form and trotting back through the Keep to find his Mate.

 **Slipping into the Den** , the Wolf paused for a moment at the sight of a soft grey and black Wolf curled up amidst the pillows and blankets, sleeping peacefully. Stepping lightly so as not to wake him, Anthony nosed his muzzle gently, gave one lick across his head before turning and leaving the Den in Rhodes's hands to protect while he and Pepper took care of Chisholm.

Rhodes nodded to the black and red wolves as they left, moving to guard Starke Keep and going inside to stay accessible, should he be needed.

 * * *

 **Pepper 'said' nothing,** racing at Anthony's side, a beautiful red wolf with a long scar along the fur at her belly her only defining marking.

Staying low to the ground as they ran, Anthony got to the edge of the woods that butted to the edge of Phillip's cleared property, and came to a stop. He turned, nosed at Pepper's side, and slowly started for the forge, coming around to the backside of it, hidden from sight to shift and shake his limbs loose for a moment. "You stay here for a minute. I just want to go check on Clinton. Make sure he's still doing well, and that Phillip's mind hasn't changed."

She lowered her head and did not shift, but she took a few steps foward to show she did not want to stay behind. She wanted to check on him as well. She'd become fond of the playful Pup.

Reaching down, he ran his hand over her head gently. "Alright. Yes, you can come too. Phillip isn't going to hurt you."

She licked his fingers before finding her form, walking beside him to the little house. A dark ugly scar ran from her ribs under one arm across her stomach to her opposite hip. Other than that, she was as flawless and ladylike as ever.

Inside the house, Jocelyn sat at the table, carefully relearning how to mend holes in Phillip's shirts and pants. She glanced up when the two figures stepped into view and never even batted an eye at their lack of clothes. "I believe they're both sleeping, but you're welcome to go in and check."

Anthony gave a nod, glancing back to Pepper and then Jocelyn. "Jocelyn, my packmate Pepper. Pepper, Phillip's mother, Jocelyn."

"Pleased to meet you, Jocelyn," Pepper said, nodding her head to her politely. "It is good to see you in health."

Returning the nod, Jocelyn smiled softly. "Pleased to meet you, as well, Pepper. And thank you. It's good to be in good health, again." Glancing towards the bedroom door, she looked back to the Wolves. "That young Pup, in there, is to thank."

"I know. He's spoken well of you and your son," Pepper told her. "I could see he's become quite attached to your family."

"Most attached to my son, I believe." Her smile turned knowing and she gave a small chuckle. "Go on in and check on them."

"Now," she corrected, nodding with a smile and turning to follow Anthony into the bedroom.

Clinton lay with his head on Phillip's stomach. He opened his eyes when they came in, half watching the door, and wagged his tail just once.

Anthony gave a small huff of a laugh as he moved into the room, Pepper following behind. Carefully, he lowered himself down to the bed so as not to wake and startle Phillip. "Pup, you look like you've seen better days." He smiled, running his hand down Clinton's side gently.

The Pup whuffed, wagging his tail once more, and stayed right where he was. He was very short on energy. He looked at both of them then wagged once again before tilting his ears forward curious.

"We came to see how you were doing," Anthony left his hand on Clinton's side, using his own magic to help provide him with a bit more energy and help to heal the wounds that had been delivered to him. "Need to get you back up on your feet again."

The muscles in his side twitched weakly, ending with Clinton whining quietly. He turned his head and licked at Anthony's fingers before resting it on Phillip's stomach once more.

Stroking through his fur softly, Anthony glanced up to Pepper and gave a shrug. "Got anything you can spare him? He can use all the help he can get right now." Turning his eyes back down to Clinton he frowned. "That magic's for you. Stop transferring it to Phillip to help him sleep. You goofy selfless Pup."

Cinton whuffed again and smacked at Anthony with his tail.

Pepper laughed quietly and sat down, stroking her hand over his fur, scritching his ears as she gave him of her own magic. "Between us, you should heal quickly if you will just leave your soon-mate to his own devices for just a few days. He is not at the Forge, he will be just fine."

Clinton huffed and sort of listened.

Anthony shook his head, his hand placed gently on Clinton's flank, eyes closed as he let his own magic course through him and into the Young Wolf. He could feel the burn of the silver still there in small bits and pieces and did what he could to sooth them away. "If we can get him enough magic to start shifting back and forth... he'll be sore and sick for a couple days... but should be out of the woods completely then... so to speak."

"Anthony," Pepper said, chiding. "I didn't realise he was this low. If I didn't know better I'd think him a wolf with barely a spark from an ancestor."

A frown creased at his brow as Anthony shook his head again. "Yeah, I'd rather not think about that right now, if it's all the same to you. We need to get him better. I'm not letting Bruce work his magic on him right now. Three months ago, I would have let him... not now. We're on our own."

"Do you think Rhodes-?" she asked, pushing all she could spare into the young Wolf, now asleep on his soon-mate's belly.

"Rhodes would be the next best guess." Anthony sighed, taking his hand off Clinton's leg and stroked through his fur gently. "Once we finish disposing of Chisholm, when we return home, I'll ask him if he'll be able to help."

Pepper nodded, running her fingers through the Pup's fur and moving to stand. "Time is not on our side, Anthony," she said.

Standing, Anthony turned to start out the door again. "Well aware of that, Pepper. Let's get rid of Chisholm fast then."

Anthony couldn't, _wouldn't_ , leave Clinton in that state. Not now that Phillip had finally seen and accepted who and what he was. Something told him that, despite accepting it, Phillip probably wouldn't be too keen on anything going further than where they were at right then.

Pepper shifted then, stretching into her first skin, and preceded Anthony outside. She had no desire to undress the foul man. She did, however, wish to claw apart certain bits of his anatomy once he was nude.

Anthony took care of making sure what could be burned, was; gladly letting Pepper tear and claw at the dead man's body as she pleased before they finished ripping him to shreds, doing as animals do when they've found a new "toy" to tear apart and play with.

 * * *

 **Whilst Chisholm was destroyed,** torn apart, and ultimately burned to ash, Clinton woke and kept watch in the house as best he could. He knew he couldn't do much, but as he'd gathered what strength he had to kill Chisholm for nearly killing his beloved - he knew he could gather what strength he had left to protect this little family, should the time come. Unfortunately, that included dozing as his body tried to heal of the deadly poison and burns.

Phillip continued to sleep peacefully beside Clint, waking only occasionally to stroke down his fur and check on him before drifting back to sleep. He was determined not to leave the Wolf's side until he was well again, just as he'd vowed to stay close to his mother until she was well.

Clinton shifted to breathe in Phillip's scent at his throat, before carefully dropping off the bed, limping slowly toward,  the main of the house to check on Mother.

Jocelyn sat at the table still, a pair of slacks in her lap. Looking up when she saw the movement out of the corner of her eye, she set the needle and thread down and held her hand out. "What are you doing out of bed? You should still be resting."

Tail low, he slowly made his way over to nose at her knee, looking up at her. He just needed to see she was all right.

Smiling, she moved to carefully set herself on the floor. "Oh you silly thing. I'm fine. You were very brave saving Phillip... and in helping me."

He sat and licked her cheek, butting his head against her chest then resting it on her shoulder.

Jocelyn laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him gently. "It's not much," She whispered into his fur, "but every little bit helps you right now." Closing her eyes, she called upon what little bit of Other magic _she_ possessed, passing it on to Clinton. It truly wasn't much, the bloodlines through the years had thinned considerably, but still, she hoped that it would bring Clinton a bit of comfort and ease.

Clinton wagged his tail and closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth.

Giving what she could, Jocelyn stroked her hand down his back and nodded. "Now, go back to bed. You need to rest. I'll be in later to check on you both and bring in some water and a bit of food for you."

Clinton yipped -- quiet, but there -- licked her cheek, then walked a little less slowly back to Phillip.

Aw bed.

He curled up on the floor beside it with a sigh.

* * *

**Returning to the Keep** after bathing in the stream to get the smell of death off themselves, Anthony shifted back to his human form, scritched Pepper's ears, and set off to find their Mage friend. If anyone (besides his Mate) was able to help Clinton, it would be him.

"Rhodes."

"Quest accomplished?" Rhodes asked from where he sat quietly, looking out the window.

"Oh yes. Chisholm is definitely gone from the face of the earth. We need your help with Clinton, though," he said, stepping up next to his friend, resting his hand on his shoulder.

"How so?" the mage turned slightly and looked at him.

Anthony frowned. "Clinton's magic. Pepper and I gave what we could to restore it... but it's too low. Dangerously low. Maybe if we had a fuller pack, we'd be able to bring it back up but, between she and I, we can't do it alone."

"I'm not a Wolf, but I will see what I can do to help him. It may be that he has... a leak of some sort. That by using too much, or perhaps the poison of the arrows, make it so he cannot retain. I will do what I can, my friend."

"If that's the case, do you know of anyway to fix it?" Taking a breath, Anthony glanced off towards the hall where Bruce was still sleeping. "I can't ask him. He'll get worried and upset and he doesn't need that right now. You're pretty much the only chance we've got."

"I will do what I can. If he'd already bonded with his Mate, I could do more, but I will do as I am able. I promise, you will not lose another packmate."

Nodding, Anthony squeezed Rhodes' shoulder gently. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. If you don't mind, I'll walk down, conserve my energy, just in case. I will send word when I know more."

"That's fine." Anthony nodded, stepping back. "Would you like Pepper or myself to go with you? We didn't exactly have time to properly introduce you to the matron of the house."

"Perhaps Pepper, I know you will want to stay with your Mate. He is well," he hurried to add. "But very tired."

A small smile spread across Anthony's face as he gave a nod. "Yes, thank you for staying with him. I should go see to him, and as Pepper reminded me, we don't have much time to help Clinton."

"I'll start walking now," he said, pulling his robe around himself and moving toward the doors to leave.

"Thank you, Rhodes. Truly." Anthony gave one last nod before turning to start off to tend to his Mate.

Rhodes didn't bother nodding back, Anthony's mind was already on other matters.  He continued down the hall toward the door and began the walk to Phillip’s property.

Properly dressed again, and in human form, Pepper fell into step beside him a moment or two later. "Anthony said I was to join you."

"I was unable to meet the matron of the house properly last night," Rodes explained, nodding to her with a small smile. "He thinks it best if someone familiar were to introduce me as a friend and not an enemy."

"That's probably for the best. I don't believe Phillip was in any state to have noticed much of anything last night, from the sound of it. He would be of no help assuring them you mean no harm." She gave a small smile, stole a quick glance and looked back out ahead of her. "Will you be able to help him, though?"

"I will do everything I can. When you saw him earlier, how was he?"

"Awake. Aware. Still in pain. He was able to wag his tail a bit. But... he insists on giving what magic he has to his soon-mate to ensure he sleeps and is taken care of."

"Foolish Pup. He really is very young, isn't he?" he asked.

Pepper nodded. "It's my understanding his true pack was killed when he was new. He was taken in by non-magics and raised. He hasn't been able to shift forms for more than a couple of years, I believe."

Rhodes frowned. "I see."

"Will that cause a problem in healing him?"

"No, no it shouldn't. But he should have started shifting at five springtimes."

Pepper drew up short and watched him for a moment. "Are you saying he's more non-magic than he is Wolf?"

"What I'm saying is that if he does not get his magic, his own magic, working properly, he may not be able to shift. His body will believe that the Wolf is his only form." He looked down at her with a small smile. "He hasn't had a human form long enough for his body to understand otherwise."

Sadness broke across her face as she stared back at him. "He won't get to claim Phillip if that happens...."

"One thing at a time, Pepper. First we must help him keep the magic he is given for healing. Then we help him find his own. I do not foresee an easy road for him." He took her hand and clasped it gently before letting go and returning to walking.

For the Pup's sake, he hoped they would manage a miracle.


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

**Phillip woke a little while later** , stretching and yawning as he worked the last bits of sleep from his body. He blinked, confused for a minute, before eyes widening in surprise. He was alone in the bed. _WHY?_ Where was Clinton? Frantically, he patted around the bed, his panic rising until he moved to the edge and stopped. There, on the floor. "Clinton...?"

The Wolf raised his head and whuffed, thumping his tail once.

The tension eased from his shoulders as he rolled to his stomach and reached down, letting his fingers slide through the soft fur. "Why are you down there? Are you alright?"

Clinton licked at his fingers and sat up, tilting his head, tail thumping slow

Smiling, Phillip rolled himself off the bed, dropping down to sit on the floor beside the Wolf. "Do you think you can eat a little bit?"

Clinton licked at his chin and butted his head against his side.

"Is... that a yes?"

Clinton rested his head in Phillip's lap, wagged his tail once. It was more of a 'I know I should, but I hurt, and I am tired. Hold me.'

Frowning a bit, Phillip ran his hand down Clinton's fur, not sure what to do and wishing so, so much that he did know. "I wish I knew what you're thinking so I knew how to help you. You need to eat... I can see if there's any meat left in the kitchen? Or some milk?"

His tail thumped once and Clinton huffed a small sigh, closing his eyes. He'd rather just stay here.

Phillip pet over Clinton's ears, giving his neck a small grip before carefully standing, he lifted the Wolf to put him back on the bed. "More comfortable up there. I'll be back in a moment with something for you to eat."

Clinton didn't fight being picked up. He curled up on the bed and closed his eyes, going back to sleep.

Slipping out of the bedroom, Phillip met his mother at the archway to the kitchen, a tray of food in her hands for him and Clinton. Bite sized pieces of raw meat and a bowl of water; a few slices of cooked beef and a glass of water for Phillip. He smiled appreciatively as he took it from her, pressing a light kiss to her cheek just as a knock sounded at the door.

* * *

**Just outside the front door** , Pepper smoothed her blouse down, brushed a bit of dust from Rhodes' shoulder and gave a nod of approval before knocking sharply at the door. "Here's hoping we're not too late to help him," she softly uttered, waiting for the door to open and let them in.

Phillip left the tray with his mother in favor of opening the door instead. He froze when he saw Madam Pepper and a stranger standing before him. "M-Madam--"

"Pepper is fine, Phillip." She smiled pleasantly before motioning to Rhodes. "This is a friend of Anthony's. He's a Mage."

"I'm here to help Clinton," he said, hands folded in front of him. "May I come in."

Pressing his lips together, Phillip looked between the man and woman before nodding. "Come in. He's asleep right now... but I was about to wake him so he could eat something if that will help you any? Him being awake?"

"It would make no difference," Rhodes said, stepping in. "If you could tell me where he is."

"This way." Phillip shut the door once Pepper had followed Rhodes into the home and motioned for them to follow him down to the bedroom Clinton was asleep in. "He's in there. May I... May I stay with him? While you're helping him?"

"Yes, I don't think it would cause any trouble." Rhodes moved in and sat down on the bed. Clinton didn't stir. Gently he stroked a hand through the Wolf's fur, checking the healing wounds. "Can you open your eyes for me, Pup?" he asked, petting just behind his ears. "Clinton, can you open your eyes."

Slowly, Clinton did as he was asked. His eyes were bluegreen, without the usual flecks of gold that would flash with the use of magic.

"Good. Well done. I need you not to fight me, Pup.”

Clinton's tail thumped once and he closed his eyes as his breathing evened out again.

"Pup? Clinton?" Rhodes frowned slightly, murmuring under his breath as he moved his palm over the young Wolf's forehead, eyes closed in concentration.

Phillip moved closer to the bed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he watched the interactions. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on, aside from magic, but he didn't want to get in the way or interrupt - in order to ask - either. So he stayed close to the bed instead, watching the Wolf carefully for any sign of change or improvement.

After twenty minutes, Rhodes gently pet Clinton again. He looked over at Phillip and Pepper. "What can you tell me about him. His past, or how he was as a Man?"

The tips of Phillip's ears burned red. "I... don't know hardly anything about his past. Just that he's from the 'south'? Human though, he's kind and curious, a hard worker, very much a perfectionist, it seems at times. He knows archery." A lump formed in his stomach and throat as he realized just how little he really actually knew about Clinton.

Pepper stepped closer. "His family was killed when he was very much a Newpup. Taken in by a non-magic pack and raised as one of them. He has a very good heart and spirit, but is a bit naive about things."

Rhodes nodded and looked back at the sleeping Wolf. "You really are very far from home, aren't you, Pup?" he asked no one. "No one taught you how not to leak magic, all you have is the instinct to give." He tutted and stroked his hand over his fur again and sighed. "Pepper," he said without looking up. "He has no control. I was right, he is leaking magic, but I don't think it's because of injury. He never learned to stop giving. I can do nothing for that until he's healed from the weapon's poison. Until then, we need to keep boosting his reserves so they don't deplete entirely." He looked up at Phillip, then.

"Son, I know what I'm going to tell you is going to be difficult. You need to keep him from touching your skin. It's not your fault, but he'll heal more quickly if you can keep a barrier between you both. Gloves. Clothing. Things of that sort.

Phillip's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, though stopped when Pepper's hand was laid to his arm. Biting his lip, he finally nodded. "I'll do my best..." he finally murmured, glancing down to Clinton and then back up again. "What happens if all his magic is gone? Will... will he die?"

"No. His body's healing. He won't die - we've saved him that much."

Giving a nod, Phillip moved closer to drop a soft kiss to the top of Clinton's head before stepping farther back. "I will keep my gloves on until he's well again."

"Good," Rhodes said. He turned and pressed his hand gently to Clinton's forehead again and went back to murmuring softly under his breath.

Pepper gently took hold of Phillip's elbow. "Come away for a little. You need to take care of yourself."

Swallowing hard, Phillip let himself be pulled from the room, his gaze not leaving the poor Wolf on the bed until after they were in the hall and the door was shut. Once in the hall, his shoulders slumped and he sagged to the wall, hand coming up to run down his face and back up through his hair. "He's going to be alright... isn't he?"

"Rhodes will do everything he can for him," she told him, slipping an arm around him and giving him a hug. "Clinton is our packmate, and Rhodes is a Wolf's Friend. He is just as invested in your Mate's life as the rest of us are."

Pink and warmth worked its way up his neck and into his ears at the word 'Mate'. Clearing his throat softly, he gave a nod. "Thank you..."

"Phillip." She smiled and cupped his cheek. A motherly gesture from someone who didn't look much older than he himself did. "When a Wolf chooses a Mate, it's for as long as they both live. We live a long time. He won't leave you, no matter what happens. And you are not alone. Our pack will look after you and your mother, because even if your father had not been adopted pack brother by Anthony's father, Clinton's devotion to you has brought both our families together. You do not have to go through this alone, your family is larger than you thought."

Phillip's eyes lifted at Pepper's words, wetness glittering at the corners. For far too long his family had consisted of just himself and his mother, and for the first time he didn't feel an ounce of resentment towards his father for telling him the stories of the Wolves, or even for sending him away to school for all those years - knowing now that it had really been for his own good and protection. And now... now he had Clinton and two people who never in a million years did he think he'd be able to call friends, let alone family!

Without a word, he leaned in, hugging Pepper tightly in further thanks.

"We've always been here, sweet boy," Pepper said, hugging him back just as tightly. "We always will be."

Taking a deep breath, Phillip held the hug for a moment longer before pulling back, using his sleeve to wipe at his eyes quickly. "I... I should go find a set of gloves that aren't covered in forge dirt..." He didn't want to risk there being anything on them that could hurt Clinton. Pausing, he tilted his head and looked back up to Pepper. "...Is there anything else besides silver that hurts him? Anything I work with?"

"The iron," she said. "And they hurt you, as well - it wasn't just your mother he's been healing," she said as she stepped back, folding her hands in front of her.

Confusion etched his brow. "But... I've been fine."

"No," she shook her head. "You haven't. You are now, though."

"Oh..." Thinking about it for a moment, he finally nodded. "Alright... no silver... no iron... you don't think Sir Anthony would mind if I didn't work on his armor and swords until after Clinton's well again, do you?"

"Of course not." She chuckled, shaking her head. "How much do you think he really needs it?" she asked with a small smile.

Phillip blushed again slightly and huffed a soft laugh. "He was just ordering it to keep an eye on me... wasn't he?"

"Your fathers were dear friends, of course he was." She patted his shoulder. "Now that Clinton's found you, he doesn't need the ruse. You don't need to work - Anthony has more than enough for the next few generations." She thought a moment. "Though he does love your work. It's beautiful."

"Thank you. I enjoy doing the work. I'd like to continue to do it, but...." He trailed off, glancing back to the door and wondering if it was really worth getting himself sick again, or getting Clinton sick.

"No but," she told him. "There is no reason for you not to do what you love, as long as you are careful."

Phillip gave another nod and couldn't help smiling. He had faith that the man in helping Clinton would make him better again, he had new family to look after him now, and permission to keep doing his work. Maybe things would be alright after all. "I will do my best. Speaking of careful, my gloves. I should go find them now. Thank you, again."

"Here," she said, pulling back and taking a purse from a pocket in her fine dress. "Go to the tailor in the town, His name is Jasper. Tell him you need long gloves, and that I sent you."

"Jasper?" Phillip nodded and took the coins. "I'll return soon."

"Be safe."

"I will." Smiling softly, he glanced back to the room once more before turning to start out the door and head for town.

* * *

**Anthony sighed as he curled up** on the pillows around his Mate -- who had shifted back to Man form -- his arm draped over him, and hand on his stomach protectively. Nuzzling into the nape of Bruce's neck, he took a deep breath, smiled softly, and let himself drift off to sleep, and to dream.

_Of course when one dreams, the dreams may take on the worries. They started out kind enough. A Pup raced through the Keep. Then the Pup Clinton raced along on all fours, playing with the new packmate._

_Things shifted._

_Phillip’s family was there, in the Keep. Phillip had his forge set up beside it, close by, as Jocelyn kept company with Jarvis, and Rhodes when he came to visit with Pepper. Phillip's hands were only ever seen encased in soft black gloves._

_Clinton was never seen in Man skin._

_Phillip's mother aged, and passed on to be with her husband on the other side._

_Phillip aged._

_Clinton remained at his side, fur and paws, nosing at his cheek and sleeping beside him at night, head resting on his stomach.  Phillip's hand, no longer gloved, threaded into his fur as he held onto him for dear life and love._

_Jarvis was gone, not long after Jocelyn. Rhodes passed on, having caught his death while teaching a young mage his craft far distant from home. Word did not reach them for a year._

_Lines etched into Phillip's skin, laughter near his eyes, lines on his cheek from life and living. His hair thinned, the line of his brow ever retreating as time marched on._

_Anthony sat at his bedside while Bruce worked to take away the pain of age as best he could. What was left of Phillip's hair was white, deep lines on his cheek - his hands spotted, shaking, and uncertain._

_...And Clinton - still young for a Wolf - snout pressed to his throat, Phillip's trembling hand ever buried in his fur._

_Clinton... lying by a new gravestone, howled until his voice went hoarse. Never leaving. Never eating._

_Pepper went, once more, to try and encourage him to come back to the Keep - to their Pack - and let them care for him in his mourning. Her scream shattered through the Keep. The other Wolves raced to her aid and stopped, shifting._

_A sea of faces stared in heartbroken horror at the brown Wolf now lifeless on the fresh-turned earth._

**Anthony woke with a sob** , his eyes wide as he sat straight up - an ache deep within his chest, and worry twisting his stomach to pieces. Looking down to Bruce, who was in the midst of waking up to find out what had startled his Mate so badly, he leaned down, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Anthony? What's wrong?" Bruce asked, concerned for his Mate.

Shaking his head, Anthony pressed his nose to Bruce's neck and just breathed him in. Needing his Mate's scent to center himself again, and to chase away the worries that were still eating at his heart. "I'm sorry I woke you... go back to sleep. I... have a lot on my mind. I'm going to go work on some things. You sleep."

"Anthony...."

"It's alright. Please, just rest."

Bruce sighed but nodded, kissing his Mate's neck and shoulder before laying back down and letting Anthony cover him back up and build up the nest of pillows and blankets around him again.

Waiting until Bruce was asleep, Anthony slowly rose and slipped from the room, going to his own little lab to lose himself in tinkering with things. He couldn't let that horrible nightmare come true.

He just couldn't.

* * *

**Clinton woke.** He whined and pawed at Rhodes, pushing him away and trying to hop off the bed, flopping a little when he reached the floor, then whining and scratching on the door. Where was Phillip?

Phillip shuffled his way through the house, the new gloves pulled on and extended all the way up past his elbows under his shirt. He'd spent the night in the forge, cleaning it as best he could and tossing every last little scrap of silver into the fires, covering them with the coal and wood so they would be sure to melt and never be touched again.

After washing himself up to get all the dust off, he made his way back into the house just as the sun was starting to rise. Instead of heading up the stairs to his bed though, he moved for his mother's room where Clinton was still sleeping. Or at least, he thought he was sleeping, until he heard the scratching at the door. Eyes widening and brightening, he opened it and looked down, a wide smile on his face at the sight of Clinton up on his feet and moving. "Clinton!"

The Wolf yelped and moved to him, pawing at his leg and wagging his tail a bit less lethargically than before as he looked up at him, head tilted. He was still holding himself carefully, but his eyes weren't quite so hazy as they'd been.

Rhodes had given in to physical, mental, and magical exhaustion and lay asleep at the edge of the bed where he'd succombed only an hour earlier.

Grinning like a fool, Phillip dropped to sit on the floor, pulling Clinton into his lap and hugging him close, doing his best to keep from burying his face in the Wolf's fur. He had to keep his skin away. Didn't want to make him any more sick.

Clinton whined briefly, still hurting but wanting to be held so much more than wanting to not hurt. He tried to lick at Phillip's face and when he wasn't let to, his ears went down and his tail tucked. What'd he done wrong? Did Phillip not want him anymore?

Eyes softening, Phillip stroked a gloved hand down Clinton's head and ears. "I'm sorry, Clinton. I... Rhodes and Madam Pepper... they said in order for you to get better again that I can't let you touch my skin. I have to wear gloves and keep cloth between us."

Clinton whimpered. That didn't feel right. It felt wrong. It felt alone. He didn't want to be alone again, and he didn't want anyone but Phillip to touch him when he hurt like this. Not when he had the strength to just... Back away, whimper. Ears down, tail tucked, he slinked into the small space under the bed and hid away to lick his own wounds. As he knew he should.

Phillip frowned as he watched Clinton scuttle under the bed. Lying on his stomach, he half wiggled under the bed so he could be near the Wolf. "Why are you hiding? I can still hold you and pet you..."

Clinton whined and lay his head on his paws, watching him with his ears down as best he could.

"Please don't hide, Clinton." Phillip reached his hand under the bed, resting the tips of his gloved fingers on Clinton's closest paw. "If you stay hidden under there, no one can help you to get well again and I... I can't lose you."

Clinton pawed at the glove, growling at it.

Frowning, Phillip looked to the glove then to Clinton, clearly trying to weigh his options and what to do. "Clinton... I..." He frowned more, a small growl of his own coming up in frustration as he scrambled back to sit up and start tugging at the gloves. "...One little touch can't hurt anything."

Slowly, Clinton started crawling out from under the bed, stopping at the edge to watch him, tail thumping hesitantly, ears perked forward.

Glancing to Rhodes still asleep at the edge of the bed, Phillip looked back down to Clinton and bit his lip. "I shouldn't do this for very long though, okay? Because I want you to get better."

Another few thumps of Clinton's tail against the floor and he slinked out from under the bed, whimpering only a little at the pull on his healing wounds.

Sitting back down, Phillip reached his non-gloved hand out, smiling softly. "Alright, come here."

Clinton whined and came out the rest of the way, putting his large paws on Phillip's shoulders and licking his face before tucking his warm and dry nose against Phillip's throat, breathing him in. Touch. Touch was good. Touch was not Alone. Not Alone was good. There was the barest of tingling against Phillip's skin.

Sighing contently, Phillip rested his cheek against Clinton's head, hand stroking through his thick fur. Just for a minute. He would only touch for just a minute. "Please get better," He murmured, nuzzling gently.

Clinton knew he shouldn't use his magic, so he didn't. But he thought it was perfectly okay if magic did as it pleased. Magic does as it will, after all. He nuzzled back, tail wagging slowly and content. Phillip smelled Right.

Phillip stayed sitting on the floor, holding Clinton close for a few more than just one minute. His eyes were heavy and his arms began to fall lax just as the door opened, Jocelyn stepping in with a fresh bowl of water and plate of meat for Clinton. Drawing up short, she set the bowl and plate down on the chest near her door a bit more forcefully than necessary. "Phillip! Release him right this instant."

Clinton stayed in Phillip's lap. He lifted his head to rest it on his shoulder instead of pressing his nose to his throat, and growled.

Frowning sternly, Jocelyn shook her head. "No. I'll not take that tone, Clinton. He knows he's not suppose to be having skin touch you. It's for your own health. Phillip, I'll not tell you again."

Reluctantly and utterly embarrassed, Phillip brushed a quick kiss to the top of Clinton's head before gently settling him back to the ground and pulling his glove back on. "It's was only a minute."

"I don't care if it was only a heartbeat. If need be, I will ask Mr. Rhodes to take Clinton back to Sir Anthony's home until he is well again. I don't want to have to do that, but if it will keep you from breaking the rules you _openly and willingly accepted_ , then I will."

Clinton growled at her again, his tail tucked between his legs. He was slower about scooting under the bed this time.

Jocelyn shook her head and shooed her son from the room. "You go upstairs and get some sleep. And Clinton, you come out from under that bed, and eat and drink something."

Clinton stayed put.

From the door, Pepper sighed heavily. "Clinton?" She moved passed Jocelyn, nudging Phillip out the door so he didn't get told again to go upstairs. "Clinton, you need to come out from under there."

Clinton growled slightly and stayed put.

A low, feral and commanding tone rumbled out of Pepper as her own instincts took, her head dipped and eyes flashing gold with magic. "Do you want to know why Phillip isn't allowed to touch you? It's because no one ever knew to teach you how to turn your magic on or off. Anytime you touch skin to skin or skin to fur, you're an open flow of magic." She started, tone low and very much in control, reminding he was the pack omega, and she was the beta - far above him. "If you don't get your own magic levels back up, and keep them up, do you understand what will happen to you? You will stay in your Wolf form. You won't be able to claim Phillip. Do you understand _that_?"

Clinton's ears dropped and he curled up tighter before carefully coming forward, skulking across the floor until he was all the way out, then rolled over on his back to show his belly, tail tucked tight between his legs, the tip flat against his stomach and chest. He whined quietly.

Nodding, Pepper unfolded her arms and let them hang to the sides loosely. "Thank you. Now eat something, drink, and then you and I will go lay out in the sunshine today. Fresh air and sunshine will do you plenty."

Clinton uncurled his tail just enough that it was still between his legs, the tip wagging tentatively between his hind ankles.

Pepper reached down, her own hands covered in gloves, and scritched at his stomach. "Good. I will meet you outside."

Clinton huffed and got to his feet, moving over to the plate and eating what he could. He managed part of it, maybe a third, before moving slowly through to the front door.

Jocelyn shook her head and smiled sadly as she watched him go. She felt bad for him, truly she did, she knew what it was like to be kept from the one you cared most for, even if it was for your own good. Closing the door behind him, she gathered up the plate to set aside for later and went about tending to her household chores that Phillip lately seemed to have neglected.

* * *

**Outside on the lawn** , behind the house and within sight of Phillip's window, Pepper lay stretched out in her Wolf form, her clothes neatly folded and hidden in the loft of the forge just in case anyone happened by. She lifted her head, gave a single bark and got up to go meet Clinton half way and walk slowly with him to the spot she'd picked out.

She nosed his neck quickly, turned her head up towards Phillip's window and lowered herself back down onto the grass. In that spot, they would have the most sunlight throughout the day.

The last few meters were hard on the Pup, and he was barely moving by the time they got there. Gratefully he lay down, turning so he could face the window, almost immediately falling asleep - curled up small as he could get.


	14. Chapter 14

**Every day, Phillip would sit by Clinton's side -**  wearing his gloves so that he could pet through the Wolf's fur - and do what he could to keep him company. He would eat his meals with Clinton, talk to him, attempted to teach Clinton how to read -- even though he wasn't sure if it was actually working or not... he tried anyway.

Pepper, Anthony, and even occasionally Bruce (though the man was watched carefully by his Mate and forbidden to use any of his magic to try and help) would stop by to visit, taking to their Wolf forms and drawing Clinton out to lay in the grass and sunshine with them, trying to get him moving and exercising to keep from getting weak physically.

Still, as the days went by and Clinton still failed to change, Anthony's fear of his nightmare coming true intensified. He wanted his packmate to be happy, to have his own Mate and to be able to properly claim him both through human standards and in Wolf standards. But he was running out of ideas on how they could help him, how to get his magic to rise up again enough for him to change and to keep it up. The more days that passed, the more terrifying it was to think about, and the more helpless Anthony felt.

While the Wolf Pup lay sleeping in the sun, Rhodes, now fed and rested after his last session, came out to speak with him. "Anthony."

Rising to his feet and shifting to his human form, Anthony tilted his head quizzically at Rodes. "Yes?"

"Clinton is doing well, physically. In the past month, his wounds have nearly completely healed, which is a miracle in itself," he began.

"I've noticed that. I'm sensing the inevitable 'however' that will be tacked to the end of that sentence, though." Anthony took a deep breath, bracing himself for what news was to come, though he had the feeling he already knew what it would be.

"Indeed. Even with the slow leak of magic -- with all I've been giving him, and you and Pepper have been sharing with him -- his own magic has begun to replenish itself. It's very slow to do so, however. I fear the poison he suffered. . ." The mage's voice trailed off and he shook his head. "I fear it may have been too much for him. I do not know at this point whether he will ever be able to harness the magic again."

Anthony's own heart broke at those words. He knew what would happen if Clinton couldn't change back. He'd seen it in his nightmare. Phillip and Clinton knew as well, though it was doubtful they truly _realized_ just what kind of impact it would be if Clinton didn't change back. "Is there nothing else we can do for him? He can't..." Anthony paused to swallow and look away for a moment to ground himself again. "He can't stay like this forever. When the day arrives that Phillip's time has expired, it's going to kill him. It's going to kill him, not being able to claim him and keep him."

Nodding, Rhodes had to close his eyes a moment to gather himself, as well. "It will," he replied, not willing to sugar coat it, knowing his old friend would appreciate no lies at this time. "We are doing all we can. I'm giving him everything I can. But it is his own magic he will need for the change, and he just simply hasn't managed to recover enough of it. Perhaps if we leave him be for a little while. Let our own magic leak free. Perhaps his own will pick up the slack."

"Do you think it'll work? It's been a month. If he hasn't changed again by the time the moon has turned to face us completely...."

"I know. The extra pull may lock him in form. However, Pepper mentioned he did not change until recently - so to some degree there may be some hope that it will simply take him more time than it might others. Do you know if it was by choice he never shifted until he was older?" Rhodes had done much thinking over the past weeks.

Anthony shook his head. "No. I don't know. I'm inclined to believe that he possibly didn't even know he could shift until after his most recent pack had died away and was killed off."

Rhodes hissed through his teeth, shaking his head. "Losing Phillip to time would most certainly end him. I can't imagine a Wolf losing family more than once, and it sounds like Clinton has done so twice over."

"To lose Phillip would make it thrice, yes." Thinking for a moment, Anthony ran a hand through his hair and frowned. "If it was needed, and if it were something Phillip and Clinton approved of, one of us could bite him in order to turn him. It would just mean more and be stronger if he were bitten by his Mate during Claiming."

"Let us save that for a last resort, and they must both agree," Rhodes replied, shaking his head. He turned slightly to watch the sleeping Pup. If anything, two good things came from this all. Chisholm was presumed run off, missing and possibly dead - and no one cared to find out for certain (which meant any wolves or Wolves in the region were safe) - and Phillip and Jocelyn were no longer on their own.

"How long until the Moon?" he asked, as though he didn't already know.

"If Bruce is correct, which he usually is, another week and three days." It wasn't much time at all. Getting just down to the wire almost. With Clinton and Phillip completely unaware.

"Magic shall do as she will."

* * *

**Clinton woke,** stretched gingerly, and yawned, tongue curling from his jaws as he did so, hind end in the air, his head down on the ground with his forelegs still, then up and starting a walk around the property, sniffing at the edge of the forest.

Phillip slowly wandered his way over to where Clinton was sniffing about, his gloved hands in his trousers pockets despite the heat of summer starting to really settle in atop them. In just a little over a week, Phillip would be turning twenty-one.

Stepping up alongside the Wolf, he reached out to run his fingers along the brown fur. Nearly a month since the last time he'd felt it with his bare hands. "Mind if I join you?"

Clinton whined, turning his head and licking sadly at the gloved hand, wagging his tail slightly as he looked up at him.

"I know..." Slowly, his fingers curled into the thickness of Clinton's coat. "I heard Anthony talking with my mother earlier. He'd like for her and I to move our belongings to his Keep, that way we're all together."

Clinton's tail wagged a little more and he yipped up at him, bumping his head into Phillip's hip.

"That is good, yes. It means I get to stay with you and you get to stay with your pack." Phillip nodded, smiling down at him.

He _leaned_ against Phillip, trying to get some sense of warmth. These sterile touches were breaking his spirit. No hands but those of family, and that dark mage from the far south. He missed the feel of Phillip's hand on his, or in his fur, anything really. That jump in his heart to know he was connected.

Sitting down on the ground, Phillip leaned back against the tree behind him and sighed. "No matter what happens, I'm not going to leave you." He vowed out loud, pulling the Wolf into his lap to hug carefully. "I don't care if it means I have to become some crazy old hermit, I'm not going to leave you."

Clinton whined. He knew he couldn't touch him, but he _wanted_ so badly. He shifted to press his head against Phillip's chest so he wouldn't do something rash, tail tucked a little again, ears down.

When he first shifted, he was afraid to shift back. He waited a month before returning to the four feet that felt natural to him, driven there by the moon. After that, it was only the night of the moon, hidden deep in the woods. He would shift only for the few hours of night - curled up and afraid, so afraid, of being found.

And then Phillip and his mother became a part of his life. He was still afraid, but thought if he could keep secret, keep safe, fein humanity - it would be all right.

Enter Anthony and his pack, and a chance to shift and not be alone in doing so. To return to what felt right and good, and splitting his time between the two.

And now. He wasn't sure if he'd ever change back. How was this fair to Phillip? While his heart had chosen for him, was it fair to Phillip to be alone for the sake of not leaving a Wolf?

Clinton whined again softly and curled up as small as he could.

Phillip shushed his Wolf quietly, soothingly. "It's alright, Clinton. Everything's gonna be fine. You'll see." It was a promise he'd been telling himself every day for the past couple of weeks, he almost believed it himself. Still, he meant it. Even if Clinton didn't shift back to human, if he never did, Phillip wouldn't leave his side. He wouldn't ever seek out another. It would be unfair to them, since his heart fully belonged to Clinton.

"You're mine, Clinton. My Wolf. I'm not going to abandon you."

He licked at Phillip's sleeve and closed his eyes. He would rest here, half in the Man's lap, for now.

To anyone who might have looked upon them, Phillip and Clinton would have appeared to be nothing more than a young man and his faithful pet, out napping against a tree in the late June sunlight.

Phillip had no intentions of getting up until absolutely need be.

* * *

**The days continued without proper _touch_.** It was worse than before. At least before, he didn't feel as though he disgusted them all. Before, they shared their magic with him and he could almost pretend things were okay. But now.

Now they _all_ wore gloves.

Anthony'd explained to him that they were trying to give his magic a chance to strengthen, but Clinton didn't see it that way. He couldn't, not when he didn't understand WHY they were trying that now. He didn't _know_. Anthony'd chosen to keep the deadline secret between himself and Rhodes. It was probable that Pepper and Bruce had guessed, but they weren't _sure_.

Time for his magic to ‘strengthen on its own’, to Clinton's mind, translated to 'we are giving up on you' and 'we can't bear to touch you any longer'.

The days passed, and he lay still for longer periods of time. When Phillip wasn't there, he thought about his first packs, about his first mate, about his pups. He wondered if maybe he shouldn't have stayed among the wolves, let himself be killed as well instead of running at the smell of death stinging his nostrils _again_. So he lay, day after day, listless in the sun, getting up at mealtimes to walk around the edge of the wood, to take a few bites to eat.

Midnight, three days from the Moon, Clinton woke on the nest of blankets he slept in. He looked up at Phillip's bed and jumped on his hind legs to, just one last time, nose the sleeping man's cheek before slipping away.

Silent, he crept down the stairs, then through the crack in the door, always left open. Phillip and Mother were due to finish moving into Starke Keep the following day.

* * *

**Clinton slept at the forge hearth** , not stirring when the bustling of the last of the packing began. His ears twitched this way and that, listening as the cart was loaded up. Listened to the stomp of the horse's hooves on the earth outside.

Moving Day.

It took long enough to gather everything together -- after promising the forge would be rebuilt at the Keep -- that it was nearing the end of the day when they set out. If they kept good pace, they would reach the Keep at twilight.

The Time Between Times.

Clinton knew that would be his perfect Time.

Phillip did what he could to spend as much of his time as possible with Clinton, to touch him even if it were through gloves. He and the others really did try to make the young Wolf believe them - that everything was for his own good, to try and help him. Phillip spent countless hours lying beside him at night, talking softly through the darkness of his bedroom about how, once they were moved into Anthony's Keep, he'd share a room with Clinton and how Anthony had already set up a very nice room for Jocelyn nearby.

Still, it didn't seem to help much. Clinton still would simply lay there, occasionally thump his tail once in response, but nothing more. Every day, Phillip grew more and more concerned, even though he tried to hide it behind a mask of happiness.

When it finally came time to move, Phillip helped to load things into the carts, making sure everything important was protected and not left behind. He would sit on the last cart in case anything fell off so he could hop off and grab it, put it back on the half full cart and be on their way again.

"Clinton? Do you intend to walk back? Or are you going to sit up here with me?" He asked as the last piece of furniture was secured and ready to go at last.

Clinton sat, turning his head to look back at the house and forge that had meant so much, had given him short great joy, then looked up at Phillip and moved to stand by the cart's wheel. He would walk. May as well.

Phillip's face and shoulders visibly fell. Nodding, he quietly climbed up onto the cart and settled himself against the sidewall, holding tight as it lurched and swayed to get moving.

Clinton licked the edge of Phillip's ankle, catching just a tiny bit of skin. _Goodbye_ , he thought, trudging beside the wheel, looking up every few moments to watch him as they made their way, twilight fast approaching.

The Man sat quiet in the back of the cart, staring off at everything they were leaving behind. In all honesty, he probably would have been more excited or walking right there alongside Clinton if they both were in better spirits. But with things the way they were, he just didn't feel like walking.

As they neared the creek crossing, Clinton began to lag behind, even as Anthony sped them up just a bit. They couldn't be caught out. Clinton slowed to a stop on the small bank, watching the cart splash through the shallows of the creek, watching Phillip, wagging his tail just twice, and bowing his head.

Eyes going wide, Phillip watched in confusion as Clinton just stood on the banks watching them cross. When the Wolf made no attempt to follow, panic flared up bright and hot in his stomach. He leaped from the cart, stumbling forward a bit in his attempt to stay standing. "Clinton? What's wrong? The water isn't that deep... you can cross it - you’ve done it many times."

Clinton turned himself around three times, sunwise, and watched Phillip again. He ducked his head, and stepped into the creek. When his tail crossed the line between the dry land and the wet water, between one blink and the next, he disappeared.

It all happened so quickly, Anthony barely had time to look back at the commotion, just in time to see. "Oh no," he muttered, stopping the horse and jumping down to catch Phillip before he did something foolish.

"Clinton!!" Phillip's voice was high and tight with panic and desperation. He dove for the water, crying out for his Wolf and feeling his heart ripped from his chest and torn to shreds.

Anthony's arms wrapped tight and unyeilding around him, keeping him from the edge, pulling him back away from it. "Shh, shh, shh, he's alright," he promised, a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging. "He's not dead. You're alright, Phillip. Come away from the edge."

Phillip fought against Anthony's hold, frantically trying to get to the water and to search for Clinton. There must have been a hole of some sort? Or a stronger current that couldn't be felt against the cart but was strong enough to take the legs out from under a weak Wolf and pull him off down under. He refused to think Clinton just willingly disappeared. That he would just _leave_. "No! _Nooo!!_ Let me go! I have to help him!!"

"You can't," Anthony said, holding on until the time-between-times had ended then carefully letting go so that Phillip wouldn't fall. It was only a few moments, Clinton had timed it well, it was nearly passed when he disappeared. _Foolish Pup. What were you thinking?_

It felt as if his very life and will had been pulled from him without warning. Tears blurred his vision, his knees threatening to betray him as he stared at the gently flowing stream where Clinton had disappeared. When he felt gentle hands touch his shoulders and turn him from the water, his knees did give out and he found himself crumbling into his mother's arms, sobbing fiercely in a way he hadn't since he was a child.

Jocelyn's arms wrapped around her son, cheek resting against his head as she looked up to Anthony. "I will sit with him. We shouldn't be out here much longer," She murmured, hand stroking gently down Phillip's back as she tried to comfort him and move him back to the carts.

The rest of the journey to the Keep was made in silence. Anthony showed Phillip where Clinton's room was, his clothing and few belongings still there, the blankets on the bed still rucked up from the nest he'd burrowed into the last time he'd been there, what felt like a lifetime ago.

Phillip moved into the room and looked around. Seeing the bed, he moved slowly towards it. He stared at the blankets for a moment before climbing up, curling in on himself in the middle of the pile and yanking what slack was around him up over his head and body to just hide, surround himself in the soft remaining scent that was there, and once again... wept.


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

**It was dark,** a day past the full moon, the fire banked low, when there was the quiet sound of the door opening, then closing. The shift of the soft wool mattress as someone sat down, a brief tingle as fingers pushed through Phillip's hair, slow and gentle. Tentative.

Snuffling softly, Phillip gave a stuttered intake of air and curled himself up all the more in his sleep. He just wanted to sleep and not wake again.

Slowly, carefully, the figure slipped in against Phillip beneath the blanket. Hot skin and strong shoulders, arms wrapping around Phillip and tugging him close, nose pressed to his hair and breathing him in. Trembling.

Phillip whimpered quietly, but didn't fight being held. He didn't have it in him to fight. Snuffling, and taking another stuttered breath, he whimpered again. "....Clin'on..." His voice small, hurt and lost like a small child's would be over a painful loss.

"Shh," he ran his hand through Phillip's hair then down his back. "I'm here, now."

Whimpering again, Phillip pressed his face in against the body surrounding him. It took a long, _long_ moment for his brain to register that there was a body there, and that it was real, and smelled so very familiar. When it did though, Phillip was instantly awake and pulling back. _It can't be_. "...Clinton?"

The Wolf smiled sheepishly. He had no idea how long he'd been gone. Time worked strangely when you crossed realms. Sometimes the mundane world moved faster, sometimes slower. It looked this time to have been slower, Phillip didn't _seem_ to have aged any. "Hello."

Phillip let out a choked up half-laugh, scrambling to uncurl and throw himself at the man. He wasn't sure if any of this was real, or if he was dreaming, or had gone completely insane, or perhaps had died of a broken heart and this was his heaven? Arms around Clinton, he pressed his face to his neck and breathed him in, laughing deliriously as he clung to him.

Clinton grinned, holding him tight, and close, and safe. The tingle of his magic was just at the surface, barely brushing Phillip as a caress. His heart jumped at having him again, close and alive. "How long?" he asked. He had to know.

Still pressing in close, Phillip pressed kisses over any patch of skin he could get to. "You disappeared... I tried to go after you, Anthony wouldn't let me... I thought you were gone! I didn't think you were coming back!"

Considering his lack of clothing, there was plenty of skin to kiss. Clinton said nothing, ducking his head and breathing Phillip in again, reacquainting himself with the scent he best remembered.

Phillip kissed and touched and finally rolled to his back, taking Clinton with him to feel his weight press down on him, confirming that he really was there and it wasn't just another dream. "I... you're really here... and it's _you_!"

"Yes, Phillip.   _How long_?" he asked again, hand running down his side - starved to touch him - leaving a soft tingle in his touch's wake, and nosing at his throat as he settled his weight over him. He was slightly broader than before, not significantly, but still noticeably. For him, time had passed.

Pink rose up on Phillip's face and into his ears. "...A few days." It seemed silly to think that it really had only been a few days since Clinton disappeared. "But, they've been really long days!"

"Good. That's good," Clinton said. That meant he hadn't had time to move on. He pulled back and kissed him fiercely, longingly.

Kissing back just as desperately, Phillip wrapped his arms and legs around the other, mentally noting that he seemed a bit different somehow. Almost, older, more mature and confident even? Something that was just slightly off from last he remembered being able to kiss and hold him.

Clinton held him close and sure, moving to mouth his throat before pulling back. The gold flecks were back in his eyes, and his gaze was as intense as it had once been. "I love you," he said, having waited so long to do so.

Phillip's heart and stomach both did flips at Clinton's intense gaze and his sincere words. He reached a hand up to settle it on a face he knew he could never forget. Those gorgeous eyes that once more held the multitude of colors that had first pulled Phillip in.

Moving his hand from Clinton's cheek back around to the nape of his neck, he pulled him back down for a kiss, stopping just shy of their lips meeting. His heart was thundering in his chest as he lightly brushed his nose over Clinton's, tilting his head a slightly different direction and doing it again. "I love you..." was his murmured and heartfelt reply, the words a warm brush between their lips.

Clinton kissed him, a bare brush of lips and tongue against Phillip's lower lip, before he pulled back again. "I want to keep you."

"I haven't hardly moved from this bed in three days," Phillip admitted softly, "thinking I'd lost you forever. I want to keep you. I have since almost the moment I met you."

"Then you will be my Mate. In the ways of Wolf _and_ Man."

"Yes." He didn't even have to think about it. He'd seen the way Anthony and Bruce interacted, the way they took care of each other and looked at each other. Phillip wanted that. He wanted it so badly, it hurt to think of ever living without it. "Yes."

"It will hurt," Clinton told him, running his calloused fingertips down his back. "You will change. You will not be Man anymore."

"If it means I don't have to watch you disappear again... and can go after you if you do... I would fight the Devil himself to get to stay with you."

"Good. That's good. You don't know how glad I am that I won't have to watch another mate die," he whispered, pulling him close.

Phillip pressed his nose to Clinton's neck, holding him tight. "I don't ever want to watch you disappear again. I... I don't want to live my life without you in it. I want to be your Mate. In any way possible."

Clinton shifted them, laying Phillip down against the blankets and covering his body with his own. The fact Phillip wore a nightshirt did not matter, Clinton took his mouth in a kiss, slow and heated. A promise.

A memory of just a month or so before crossed Phillip's mind. Hot, desperate kisses and hands roaming, being pressed against the wall of the forge, grinding their bodies together before making for the loft. Expanses of bare skin touching, grasping.

Kissing back, Phillip tried to pull his nightshirt off, wanting to feel that again.

Clinton pulled back, nosed his jaw then climbed off entirely, bundling him in the blanket. "Will you wait for me, just for a few minutes longer, Phillip?"

"You're not going to disappear again...?" He asked, slightly breathless but accepting the act of being wrapped up in the soft blanket that smelled so much of Clinton.

"I'm not. I just need to get something. I don't want to wait any longer to make you mine." He brushed his fingers through Phillip's hair then down his cheek before turning and leaving, shutting the door gently behind him.

A strange bottle, he remembered that much. And a room for bathing.  He went that way first, to see if he might find one.

Phillip waited patiently, wrapped up in the blanket and looking around Clinton's room. Honestly, he wondered what exactly it meant to become Clinton's Mate. What needed to happen. He understood what would need to happen in the human way of things... but he had no clue what it meant for the Wolf way. Maybe it involved some kind of magic?

It didn't matter.

He was becoming Clinton's Mate. He would never have to be without him again and would finally be able to have what Anthony and Bruce have.

That was what mattered.

 

* * *

Coming down the hall on his way to Bruce, a cup of hot tea with lemon in hand, Anthony drew up short when he caught the scent of a familar being and yet... changed. Slowly, a smile creeped across his face.

Nudging open the wash room's door, he quirked a brow while leaning against the doorframe. "The South's been good to you, Pup." He stated quietly, amused and relieved at the same time.

Clinton turned, broader and more confidant. So near no longer being a Pup. He lifted his chin respectfully before coming forward and hugging him, careful of the tea as he nosed beneath his Alpha's chin. "I missed you, too," he said before pulling back. "I need slick," he said baldly. "Where do you keep it, I was looking."

Chuckling softly, Anthony nodded to the blue bottle that looked like waves on water sitting on a small table, near the tub, amongst other bottles. "You mean that one?"

Clinton looked from the cabinet he'd been rummaging around in to the tub. "Ah." He moved to take it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," He watched Clinton for a moment, head tilted to the side. "When you finish claiming your Mate, you'll have to tell me how long you were gone and who was able to help you when we failed."

"Seven years, Titania and Frigga - I only was able to shift back a month ago. I was kept until they could be sure I wouldn't get stuck again." There was a slight shadow in his eyes as he moved past Anthony, bumping his nose under his chin once more, in respect.

Blinking a bit, Anthony shrugged but nodded. "Alright then. Bed him well. He's been a wreck since you returned to the South." He turned to follow him back down the hall, since they were in fact both going the same direction. "This will be a good birthday for him. I'll be sure no one disturbs you." Without another word, the Alpha Wolf continued quietly down the hall and around the corner.

Clinton bared his throat to the alpha of his now-pack, just a moment, before making his way into the room, shutting the door soundly and making his way to the bed. He set the bottle on the small table beside it and gently began unwrapping Phillip.

Glancing at the bottle, Phillip tilted his head curiously as he was uncovered again. "That's the bottle I found hidden in the loft of the forge while we were packing things. What is it?"

"Mounting oil." He put a drop on his fingers and rubbed it between them before offering for Phillip to touch.

Phillip touched it, rubbing it between his own fingers for a moment. "What's it for....oh!" His eyes shot up to look to Clinton, pink rising up on his cheeks as he smiled shyly, his brain piecing things together in his head. "This, I suspect, will be useful?"

Clinton's smile was entirely predatory. "Yes," he said, leaning in to kiss him again before drawing back and pulling the rest of his clothes from him, baring his skin to his hands, stroking them along his chest. "When we come together," he murmured, his lips moving to press over Phillip's heart. "I am going to bite you. I will have to break the skin. Then Magic will bind us together, and give you the gift of the Wolf."

Phillip's heart beat jumped a notch at those words, blood pumping downward fast. Wetting his lips and swallowing thickly, he nodded in understanding. "Alright...." He murmured in return, not sure how to express everything he was feeling.

"I am going to be inside you when that happens," the Wolf said with a grin. "I will hold you close and tight to me, but-" he paused, kissing over his heart again. "If you are in pain. If you have second thoughts. If you want to wait, tell me to stop, and I will."

Phillip's eyes darkened and fell half shut at those words, his cock twitching between them. His breathing became deep and heady as he nodded. He couldn't find words to convey any type of feelings that would be coherent, except for "Yes... please...."

"I will take you slowly, my Phillip," Clinton said, the next kiss beside his navel. "I have been waiting a long time to taste you." A long swipe of his tongue along the crease of his hip from groin to bone, nipping there.

Eyes fluttering, Phillip gasped at the licks and nips delivered to him. Areas he never knew could ignite such great desire were suddenly springing to life and begging to be touched and noticed. His hands fisted into the blankets as he shivered from head to toe. "...Y-yes...Clinton, please...."

He growled softly, licking lower this time, tongue beginning low, stroking through the hair over his secret places, up over his sack and from the root to the tip of his hardening cock. He sucked the edge of his foreskin into his mouth, then the tip. Licking beneath the skin in a broad swipe, then tonguing the slit.

Phillip's eyes shot wide open, a strangled cry of surprise filling the room as he looked down to watch. His entire body trembled, every nerve taking notice of what was happening and wanting moremoremore! More touch. More kisses. More of Clinton!

Grinning he took long laps, slowly from beneath the base, to the tip, giving it a soft suck each time - until Phillip was clearly getting hard. Then he started paying more attention to the tight place beneath, licking over the wrinkled skin, tongue flicking at the center on each pass. He wouldn't be able to do this once the slick was in place.

His legs parted all the more, as if on their own accord, giving Clinton plenty more room to move and do as he pleased. It was a strange sensation, but not at all unpleasant. In fact, it actually had Phillip giving honest to goodness _whimpers_ and _whines_ of want.

Clinton growled slightly, sucking on the skin beside it before pressing his tongue inside. Just a bit. To work him loose as he now knew he needed to. In a way, it was good that he went through what he did. He did not know this, and he would have hurt Phillip. Unless Anthony remembered to tell him differently.

Crying out again quietly, Phillip's body jumped and squirmed on instinct, trying to press closer to Clinton, instead of pulling back from him.

Clinton grasped his hips, nose pressing into the soft skin as he tongued the hole, working it loose with short flicks, followed by pressing it in more and more.

Phillip tried to sit up, wanting to watch what Clinton was doing, though his body had forgotten what bones and muscle were, and how to use them. He felt his hips being held, pushed into the soft mattress to keep him still, something very hard for him to do at the moment, but he would try.

One last long lick and suckle and Clinton sat back to take some of the thick oil to his hand. He warmed it on his fingers then carefully pressed one inside as he started kissing Phillip's chest again with long licks of his tongue between the brief kisses.

A hand finally remembered how to work, coming up to run over Clinton's skin and to his hair, touching him, _really touching him_ for the first time in what felt like _ages._ He squirmed against Clinton's hand, the intrusion new and incredible, especially with the oil warming and loosening him from within. Breathing hard, Phillip tugged gently at Clinton's hair, wanting to kiss him again as he was being opened.

Clinton licked straight up Phillip's chest and into his mouth, the single finger slowly working in and out, gently pressing against the muscle, then moving again. His magic tingled against Phillip's skin, brushing against it with every touch.

Phillip's body was already tingling, even without Clinton's magic. The magic just made things all the better, a hundred times over. What should probably have felt awkward - and maybe even painful - felt incredible and _right_. Moaning into Clinton's mouth, Phillip tangled his fingers in the soft, thick hair, kissing him back and sucking, licking, and just generally toying with the tongue invading his mouth.

Time was taken, so much time. Clinton did not tire, softly kissing him and working for ages with just a single finger before he added a little more oil and introduced a second, consistent movement, heated without being hot.

As the second finger was added, Phillip whimpered out loudly, pulling back from Clinton just bit. "C-Clinton... w-wait..." He panted out, eyes blown wide and almost terrified. For ages the hot tension coiled in the pit of his stomach, his cock twitching harder and leaking his pre-come freely. He whimpered again, biting down hard on his lip, clamping his eyes shut tightly.

He pulled his hand free immediately, wiping it on the blankets and pulling Phillip close, running his hand down the side of his body, petting and gentling him. "We will wait," he said softly, though everything in him wanted to claim him NOW, he knew better than he had before he'd gone South. He was glad of the trials he'd gone through, so that he would learn to not hurt this beautiful Man.

Giving a softly shaky and embarrassed laugh, Phillip shook his head and swallowed thickly. "N-no... I.. it just..." he paused to take a couple of deep breaths, pulling in Clinton's scent as he was held close. "I was afraid... I was not going to last any longer... if you kept doing that... it... it felt so good. Please. Please I want to. I just... I didn't want to finish before we even began."

"We will wait," Clinton repeated, kissing him softly and pulling up the blanket so he wouldn't catch chill.

Swallowing again, Phillip pressed himself in against Clinton, waiting a few moments for the desperate need for release to settle and become the small coil of wanting again. He pressed kisses to Clinton's chest, shoulders and neck. "I'm ready, please?"

"Yes," he said, stroking his hand along his body before unwrapping him once more, putting oil on his first two fingers, gently pressing one in and, soon after - at finding he was still fair - the second.

Phillip groaned and rolled his head back, feeling the tingle and pleasant warmth spreading through him once more. He bit his lip before his jaw fell lax, more small noises falling from him as his body shifted and rolled into Clinton's hand.

Instead of brushing against him, a touch of magic went to Phillip, easing any sting the actions may have caused.

Slowly, Phillip's entire body began to loosen up, sweat a thin sheen across his stomach, chest and face, dampening his hair and sticking it to his forehead in clumps. He pressed and pulled back against Clinton's fingers, finding a slow but powerful rhythm.

Again, he took his time, working the muscle until it was looser. He added another few drops and pressed in a third finger, twisting his hand as he gently thrust in and out, pressing against the muscle to help it loosen. He lapped at Phillip's skin, tasting his sweat with a rumbling growl, possessive.

"Yours..." Phillip murmured, breathy and rough with arousal. "Yours... only yours... Clinton... p-please... w-want you." He whined softly, pressing himself down on the three fingers stretching him. “ _Please_? Want you... want... want more. Please?"

"Yes," Clinton agreed, leaning in to kiss him long and slow before pulling his fingers out. He got to his knees and shifted Phillip, turning him over and bringing his hips up, kissing along his spine as he got just a bit more slick, stroking it onto his hard cock, leaving it glistening in the light of the waning full. He wiped his hand on the bedding before grabbing Phillip's hips and pressing slowly and carefully inside.

Phillip whimpered at the loss of the fingers, though when he found himself suddenly rolled over, hips propped up and Clinton’s tip prodding at him, he gripped the sheets and moaned none too quietly, the sound intensifying to a louder near sob of pleasure. He'd never felt anything like it before in his life! So stretched out, so filled and yet only slightly uncomfortable. Not even hardly enough to be noticed.

Clinton grasped his hips, magic licking against Phillip's skin, then pushing gently into him, easing any discomfort. He paused once he was seated fully inside. "Phillip?"

Panting heavily, Phillip lifted his head from where it'd fallen to the mattress without his noticing. "Y-Yes..."

Clinton shifted his hips. "I will wait."

Phillip's body arched slightly at the shift. He groaned deeply, looking back over his shoulder at Clinton with love, and want, and desire, evident in his eyes. "I'm... I'm okay. Please do that again."

With a Wolf's grin, Clinton drew out then thrust back in, shifting his hips once he was fully seated once more. He growled low, grasping Phillip's hips tightly.

He groaned out again, long and low as Clinton moved. "More... yes... p-please... Clinton... that...." Between the feel of his beloved drawing out and thrusting back in again for the first time, and the grip Clinton had on his hips, Phillip was on the brink of sobbing in pure pleasure. Even without the bite of his soon-Mate, he felt well and truly claimed already.

Slow thrusts built into a rhythm, as he gripped Phillip's hips, holding him tight to himself. He leaned over him, chest brushing against his back as he started moving faster.

Phillip blindly pulled a pillow to himself, pressing his face into it to keep his sounds at least slightly muffled. He'd no idea how to be quiet while experiencing such incredible pleasure. He would lift his head from time to time, gasping for air and sobbing out Clinton's name, pleading and affirming, though just what was never established.

Clinton gasped each breath. "Don't," he said, laying along his back, arms wrapping around Phillip as his hips started moving much faster, skin slapping together with each snap of his hips. " _Let me hear you._ "

A white hot jolt bolted from his chest to his groin at the sound of Clinton's rough growl, causing him to gasp and sob out as his cock throbbed hard. "Clinton... y-yes... yes...." If his Mate wanted to hear him, then so be it. That knowledge, that growled near-command not to hide his face in the pillow to muffle himself did things to him on an a visceral level.

Clinton pressed tighter against Phillip's back, mouthing at his shoulder, his neck, as he moved faster. "You. Are. Mine. Let Everyone Hear YOU are MINE," he growled, thrusting quick as he drove them both to the edge of the Claiming.

Phillip was spouting nonsense, not even real words most times, just sounds intermixed with "Yes!" and "Please!" and "Clinton!!" He had absolutely no idea how loud he was, nor did he particularly care. Clinton was home, he was being claimed, the Keep's inhabitants would just have to deal with being woken up by his howls of pure pleasure and need.

"Yes!" Clinton said before kissing and licking at the skin on Phillip's neck, softening it. He could feel his magic coiling within him, just beneath the skin - crying out to be put to good use, to give them their greatest wish.

His cock throbbed, beads of clear pre-come soaking into the pillow that had - at some point - been propped under his hips to angle him up just right. Sack tight and heavy, Phillip sobbed out again and again, over and over, louder, more desperate, more needy. Begging for Clinton, begging to be claimed, begging for more, begging for faster and harder. The tight hot coil in the pit of his stomach about having reached its breaking point and beginning to cause his muscles to tremble under the strain.

Given, then given again. Clinton pounded into him, pushing him against the pillow, tugging him tight to his chest. He moved faster, now, losing all rhythm.

"Cl-Clinton! I... I'm go... I can't..." Phillip sobbed, his fingers going white as he clutched the bed so hard it hurt. "I'm going to... Clinton! I...."

"Mine," Clinton growled, and three thrusts later slammed in so hard there would be bruises on them both, come morning. He bit down on the cord of Phillip's neck, his teeth sharp and breaking the skin. Magic poured through him, poured into the broken skin in a way it never had, poured through Phillip.

Phillip cried out loudly. First in pleasure, then pain as he was bit, and then pleasure again as the magic coursed through to him to cover the pain. It was by far the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced, his vision turning white as he rode the high and felt Clinton's magic flood through him with abandon.

Clinton held on, emptying himself deep inside, magic and seed; holding tight to him, his magic healing the wound to a scar almost immediately as he nuzzled the nape of Phillip's neck, his body covering him, inside him, holding him close and still.

It took time for Phillip to finally come down off that incredible high. His senses already, he could tell, were starting to change, intensify. The smell of his and Clinton's bodies mingling, Clinton's earthy and heady scent were thick and rich around him. His sight was about the same, but he could hear things he hadn't ever been able to hear before, right along with the beat of his Mate's heart, the panting of his breath, blood rushing through their veins. His body felt weak, though, not yet strong enough to support him. Whimpering and whining softly, he lowered his head to the mattress and just keened in pleasure and pure happiness.

Clinton made no move to remove himself from Phillip's body, but he curled around his new Mate, shifting so they were on their sides and bringing the blanket over them. He pressed small, pleased kisses to his shoulder, one hand rubbing his chest, the other his stomach, in soft, possessive touch. Gentling him as the magic coursed between them.

Binding them.

Their lives.

Their souls.

Phillip gave a soft moan and content hum as he was moved about and pulled into place against Clinton's chest. He felt so _full_. So utterly _complete_. Lamely, he pawed his hand around to link his fingers through the hand rubbing over his stomach gently. "Clinton... that... that was... incredible. I love you... so much. Yours."

"Yes. Mine." His heart was so _full_. It was unlike anything in his young life. He nuzzled at Phillip again. "Love," he answered simply. He shifted to hold him gently, now. "Rest. Let my magic take away the hurt."

Smiling softly, Phillip nodded, his eyes closing as his body relaxed and grew heavy. The magic was certainly doing well to take the soreness away and, even as he began to drift off, he could tell that wasn't the only thing the magic was doing.

Eventually, Clinton slipped out, sooner than he'd have liked. He closed his eyes, and breathed in Phillip's scent. He'd dreamed of this for so very long, and it had been more wonderful than his imagination could conjure. He lay awake through the night, actively sharing his magic as he half dozed, Phillip in his arms. It was near dawn when he, too, finally drifted to sleep.

And magic... did as she will.

 


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

**By the time Phillip finally woke** , the sun was halfway across the sky and he was pleasantly sore in places he'd never been sore before. There was a dull ache on his neck that had him lifting his hand to touch gently, only just barely feeling the marks left from where Clinton had bit into him during the night. Where he'd been _claimed_. _I'm claimed. Clinton's home, and I'm claimed..._ The thought was enough to make him grin like a fool and snuggle himself back into the warm, firm body behind him, arms still holding him secure. _My Mate!_

The young Wolf stirred, stretching and pulling Phillip close again, yawning hugely and burying his face against his skin. "Mm..." he hummed sleepily.

Grinning, Phillip nestled again, lacing their fingers together once more and giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Good morning," He murmured, lifting Clinton's hand to kiss.

"Mm. G'morn," he murmured, smiling. "Feel?" he asked.

"Mmm..." Phillip slowly rolled over, carefully - as it might have hurt just a little bit still to do, but he could tell the magic was working on that. His leg slipped between Clinton's, arm over his middle and new implanted instincts taking hold that told him tucking himself under Clinton's chin and nuzzling into the hollow below his neck was pretty much one of the greatest things in the world. So he did it. And it really was. "Feel good. Feel very, very good."

"Good," Clinton murmured, content. "Do you feel a place inside where all you want is to be warm and safe?"

"Mmhmm..." He nodded, nosing at Clinton's neck and shifting a bit closer to him.

Clinton grinned, brushing his hand down Phillip's back. "Curl up in that place," he whispered.

Phillip thought about that feeling of wanting to be warm and safe, thought about it as if it were a real place and thought about curling up there. The more he thought about it, the more he could feel a tingle start to go through him. Eyebrows knitting together, he tilted his head slightly. "What's going on...?"

"That's our magic," Clinton said, grinning, before immersing himself and swiftly he sat back, tail thumping the mattress. His fur was thicker than before, almost shining with good health, a deep nut brown that hid his scars. He nosed at Phillip's shoulder. Encouraging him.

Phillip focused on it more, that feeling. The tingle increased, surrounded him in a warm, soft blanket. At least, he thought it was a blanket. How was he to know it was in fact two pointed ears, a tail, and a thick, soft coat of black and brown fur, barely darker than Clinton's.

Clinton barked, bowling Phillip over, setting his jaws over his throat before licking all over his face, his entire hind end wagging.

Yipping in surprise, Phillip found himself lying on his back, Clinton above him and licking him happily. He tilted his head and tried to talk, to ask what happened and why Clinton was so excited, but it came out as barks and yips. Startled by his own bark, he froze and only then caught sight of his paws instead of hands.

The brown Wolf nosed at Phillip, nudging his head, and yipped again before walking backward, his rear in the air and paws and nose on the ground, wagging his tail. His Mate was GORGEOUS.

It took Phillip a second to figure out this new form and new way of doing things. Once he got himself rolled over and back on his feet though, he took a few cautious steps before coming up to nose at Clinton, nudging him until he could lick at what would be his chin.

Clinton sat, tail thumping. He howl-barked then nipped at Phillip's fur.

Behind him, Phillip's own tail began to slowly swish back and forth, before finally picking up speed. He barked back before doing a turn and noticing his tail. Perhaps this why he'd seen dogs chasing their tail, they simply wanted to get a better look at it. Four legs getting caught up in each other, found him nose to the floor and looking very confused.

Clinton hopped down, nuzzling at his side with concern, tail wagging as he licked him all over his face.

Phillip's tail wagged again as he licked back and stood once more, giving a shake. Barking once, he nudged at Clinton's side before looking to the door. He wanted to find the others, let them see and tell them all that Clinton had come home, and was safe.

The best thing about Starke Keep was the doors. They didn't hinge directly to the wall, but about a foot away from it. All any wolf had to do was push, and if it wasn't latched for privacy, it was open.

Clinton, even after a seven-year with the Other, still didn't get the whole privacy thing. He pushed at the edge of the door to show Phillip how it was done, then came back in and pushed on the smaller end, closing it back up. He stepped back and sat, waiting for Phillip to try.

Head tilted, Phillip approached it curiously and mimicked Clinton's actions, his tail wagging harder as he moved from one side to the other, opening and closing the door. He was happy, he was allowed to be a little silly while figuring out his new form.

Opening the door, he ducked into the hall, turning to bark at his Mate. His front end lowered and tail up, but still. _Chase me, catch me, show me off to the others. You're home and I'm yours!_ his wiggling and barking seemed to say.

Clinton playfully growled, spanking the ground with his forepaws, barking and wagging his tail. He ran forward, then stopped, waiting, ears perked attentively.

Yipping happily, Phillip spun once before taking off down the hall, barking, yipping, and play growling the entire way.

Clinton HOWLED, giving him a bit of a head start before racing off after him.

 **Mouth hanging open** and tongue sticking out, Phillip raced down the halls of Starke Keep - occasionally taking a corner too fast, and tumbling into the opposite wall, before jumping back up and taking off again. He had the very distinct feeling Clinton was giving him a fair chance, it was his first _hour_ in this new form, it would be unfair and bad form to chase him at full speed right out the gate.

A small table met a sad end as Phillip clipped into it and sent it toppling to the floor, the noise startling him to run all the faster until his paws no longer remembered which one went where and he was rolling nose over tail to a stop near another hallway turn. That was enough to cause him to pause, sit up and shake his head a bit to clear the dizziness from his sight.

Clinton howled joyfully as he trotted after his Mate, just as happy, tail giving a wag now and then as they raced through the keep, making quite the ruckus. When Phillip took his spill, Clinton slid to a stop and waited, head down, tail wagging tentatively. He made a questioning whine and yip of concern.

Phillip blinked a couple of times before looking to where Clinton was waiting, watching him. Panting happily, he gave a bark back, hopping up to his feet once more and taking off again, following his nose to the scent of food, and the unique and wonderful mingled scent of their Pack.

Clinton wagged his tail, dancing in place and chasing his tail a moment before tearing off after him with a happy howl.

The more he followed the scent, the more Phillip barked and yipped. He didn't glance back to see where Clinton was, but he could tell he was starting to gain on him, it wouldn't take much longer before he was caught.

 

* * *

**Sitting in the smaller dining hall** , Anthony lifted his head at the sound of the yips and barks growing closer. Smirking and chuckling, he glanced back down to his breakfast, ignoring the questioning looks he got from the rest of his packmates sitting around him. He hadn't told Bruce, the night before, that Clinton was back. They'd all figure it out soon enough.

Clinton raced after Phillip, nipping at his heels as though herding him, keeping him in place. Mostly he was letting him know he'd nearly caught him. His Mate.

Phillip yipped each time his hind legs were nipped at, tail swooping between his legs to keep from getting caught between teeth and hind end lowering just a bit as he took another corner and made a break for the dining hall.

With a burst of energy, Phillip streaked into the room, a brown and black blur as he darted between chairs, under legs, and hid in the center below the table, panting and tail thumping the floor happily.

Clinton raced after him and leapt onto the table, walking across to where Phillip was and crouching down looking under it. He growled, tail wagging slightly. He'd let his Mate catch his breath. For a moment.

The moment passed and he leaped off the table, turning mid air and darted between Bruce and Pepper's chairs, under the table and after Phillip once more.

The others seated at the table -- minus Anthony, who simply raised a brow and lifted his plate to avoid it being scattered -- startled back, their eyes wide at the sight of Clinton, in Wolf form, standing there in front of them, seemingly oblivious to their existence (and still confused as to the new Wolf hiding under the table).

Yipping and scrambling, Phillip wriggled out just in the knick of time to at least make it a few more feet, going left around a pillar, expecting Clinton to follow him around.

Clinton went right, and bowled him over. The two went snout over tail in a bundle of fur before Clinton got Phillip on the ground, jaws around his throat. Mine, he thought as he growled, tail wagging just once, raised and ears perked forward before he started licking all over his face.

Phillip fought only just a little bit before going lax and still under his Mate, the feel of Clinton's jaw on his throat enough to make him whimper in submission in the moment before Clinton licked him. Claimed! And caught in front of everyone!

It was that moment though, as Clinton released and stood, that a grey Wolf sprang forward, teeth bared and hair raised threateningly. He body slammed into Clinton, knocking him away from Phillip and causing the new Wolf to yipe in surprise, scurrying off to hide behind Jocelyn's skirt.

Clinton rolled away and stood. This growl was not playful. He kept his tail up, his head lowered. There was a snarl to his growl as his hackles raised. He was still young enough to believe that attack as someone trying to steal his Mate.

He snarled, coming forward, all teeth and fury to attack his attacker. Get him away from his young Mate. For Phillip was young, he was a new Wolf, not even an hour old.

The grey Wolf lowered his head, slowly circling around Clinton, ready to make a strike.

Which would not come. Not yet.

Instead, a louder 'knock off your shit' bark filled the hall before Anthony, in his black Wolf form, landed between them, head high and proud - reminding them both who was the alpha of their pack. His eyes were bright gold as he glared at Obadiah for instigating the attack. When Obadiah slowly relented, Anthony shifted back to his human form. "Obadiah. Out. Go back to your rooms and stay away from Clinton and his Mate."

Clinton halted immediately, not understanding why Anthony would stop him from getting vengence. When the black Wolf shifted, He waited, watched. His head down, hackles still raised, still growling low and quiet. He would listen to his alpha, yes - but only as long as his Mate was _safe_.

Obadiah glared hard at Anthony, then at Clinton. He knew that the brown Wolf was Clinton, but he'd changed. He was no longer the young Pup who just wanted a pack to belong to, eager even for the role of pack omega. Obadiah could smell the different magic on him, the confidence and control that now radiated off him. Clinton had the potential to try and become the alpha of the pack, if not a beta, and there was no way he was going to let that happen. He blatantly ignored Anthony's command to stay away from Clinton and the new Wolf, moving instead to sniff at Phillip.

Sighing, Anthony took a step back, out of Clinton's way. "Dammit, Obadiah."

It was a good thing too, because the young Wolf was not of a mind to let anyone stand in the way of his new Mate. It had taken years for him to be in a place where he was Right again - Years to come home. He snarled, rushing Obadiah, shoving him away from Phillip and standing between them, hackles raised, teeth bared as he growled at the grey Wolf. He didn't give the other Wolf a chance to gain his feet before he was on him, snarling and biting at the one that would steal what was HIS.

Phillip scuttled around the other side of the chair, still hiding and keeping out of the way of the fight that had broken out.

Obadiah snarled and growled as he fought back. The pair of them rising to their hind legs, using their forelegs to catch and hold and shove at each other as they went for necks and ears.

Clinton snarled, shoving hard as he could at the larger Wolf, backing off slightly only to try and catch him off balance, jaws snapping at his throat in attempt to either dominate or end him.

He wasn't fussed, either way, at this point.

Lunging at Clinton, Obadiah managed to get his teeth on the younger Wolf's shoulder, clamping down hard and not giving up.

At the table, Jocelyn's hand fell to settle in Phillip's fur. She watched, just as the others, in confusion as the two Wolves fought. No one made anymore attempts to come between them and break things up. It wasn't their place to get involved anymore. Obadiah had gone against orders to stay away from Phillip which gave Clinton every right to fight the older Wolf.

Clinton yelped. Of course he'd gotten the shoulder that had taken the arrow all those years ago. It still ached him, even after the poison was gone, after he’d been remade, some of its strength was forever tarnished. He rolled his body, breaking free and snapped at him, snarling, circling. That was the moment the young Wolf decided on death as the only option, rather than subduing. He rushed the older Wolf, lunging, jaws aiming for the soft place under his throat.

Caught off guard, Obadiah made to rear back and capture Clinton as he rushed at him. Which left his throat exposed. When Clinton's teeth sank in, a horrible pained howl bounced off the walls, the older Wolf struggling to break free, only making it worse for himself.

Instinctively, Anthony moved to put himself in front of Bruce. It would be bad enough to have to hear Obadiah's end, he didn't want his Mate to be subjected to having to see it as well. Pepper, who'd long since shifted to her own Wolf form, stood crouched low on the other side of Bruce, hair raised but no sounds. It was the way of things to protect the one who was with Pup, and while they logically knew Clinton was going to end only Obadiah's life, instinct told them protect the packmate that was carrying, at all costs, during a fight.

Clinton locked his jaws as the larger wolf tried to throw him off. The rest of his body a limp weight as all his focus, his _magic_ kept his jaws clamped tight.

It was through his own squirming and bucking attempts to throw Clinton off him that, with one sicking SNAP and yelp, Obadiah's body went slack and still under the younger Wolf.

A thick and heavy silence fell over the dining hall as the fight was now officially finished.

Slowly, Clinton let go, nosing the wolf's still head to be sure, before limping back. Blood wet his brown fur, staining it darker as he looked at his pack.

Or, his once-pack?

Giving them a wide berth, he limped to where Phillip was, nosing his shoulder to get him from behind his mother. If he had to leave, he was taking his Mate with him. While he had only met Obadiah twice, the others were... they meant more. He would not hesitate to protect what was his, but it might well break his heart irreparably if he had to do so against what pack was left.

Slowly, Phillip crawled back out, nudging gently at Clinton's injured shoulder, wanting to take care of it for him. Whimpering softly, he stood close to his Mate as the others came around the table to check the damage. Clinton was omega, the youngest, and least, of the pack -- always had been -- but he would protect Phillip at all costs.

Bruce waved Anthony off in annoyance as he carefully knelt down by the two Wolves. "Clinton? Will you let me look at your shoulder for you?" He asked softly, making no attempts to come closer or hold his hand out.

Clinton whined, tail low, now; staying between Phillip and the rest, looking up at Anthony as alpha for permission to approach the alpha mate.

Anthony gave a nod before making his way over to where Obadiah lay motionless on the ground. "Well Rhodes, would you like to dispose of this one? Pepper and I took care of the last one."

Phillip glanced back over at Obadiah before quickly looking away and going wherever Clinton went, sticking as close to him as possible.

"Ask and you shall receive," Rhodes said. There was a sad tone to his voice as he waved his hand. In moments, and without smoke, Obadiah's body was burned to ash, then the ashes banished to scatter on the land, enriching the soil as the circle of life continued.

Clinton limped toward Bruce, tail tucked slightly. He sat within reach, averting his gaze.

Bruce carefully parted the fur and flinched as he looked the wound over. It no doubt had to hurt, as it wasn't at all small or shallow. But, it would heal. His eyes turned to Phillip who was sitting nearer, now, his eyes clearly showing his concern and confusion over what happened as he watched Bruce and Clinton.

"Phillip? I think this is something you should do, since he's your Mate. It will help him more than I would--"

"No magic, Bruce." Anthony chided, turning on his heel and casting his own Mate a stern look.

Sighing, he rolled his eyes. "I am aware of that, Anthony. That's why I asked Phillip to do it. I haven't forgotten our talk."

Clinton's ears perked before going down again. He turned his head to look at Phillip, whining encouragingly.

Phillip scooted closer.

"You'll need to shift forms. Focus on your human form. Hands, feet, legs, arms... think about being able to use them, picture yourself working as a Man." Bruce's voice was quiet and patient as the new Wolf began shifting slowly back to his human form.

A chill ran through him as he suddenly found himself sitting naked on the cold stone floor. Swallowing hard, Phillip scooted closer still, slightly shaken. "O-Okay. What do I need to do?"

"Hold Clinton, put your hand over the wound on his shoulder. Your magic will know what to do and take care of the rest. Just let yourself relax and open up to letting it flow. It's an energy, it won't take much to let it through to Clinton. Just a little."

Clinton lay on the floor, baring his wound to his Mate. He looked up at him, licking at his knee to show his trust.

Carefully cradling him, Phillip ran his hand down Clinton's side before resting it over the wound and doing as Bruce instructed. He focused and concentrated, feeling his new magic slowly start to trickle down through his hand, warm and gentle as it passed through to his Mate, slowly knitting the wound back together.

Clinton closed his eyes, letting Phillip's new magic, tainted with his own, set to work, his own magic called forth to help, until a new scar lay beneath his fur. He took a moment to breathe then shifted, sat back on his heels, and wrapped his right arm around his Mate, breathing him in. "Mine."

Phillip literally crawled into Clinton's lap, hugging him close and tucking his head under his Mate's chin. "Yours," he murmured back, face turned to press into his neck.

Bruce gave a fond smile as he stood. "Why don't you two go back to your room and rest. Anthony and I will make sure to bring in some breakfast for you both."

Clinton looked over his shoulder at him, blood dried on his face, then looked up at Anthony. "We can stay?" he asked, uncertain in a way he hadn't shown since he'd returned. Surely he’d be driven from their pack, coming in and killing one of theirs the day he’d come home.

Anthony moved to put a hand on Bruce's shoulder and looked down to the pair. "Of course you can stay." He tilted his head as realization snuck in. "Clinton, Obadiah went after your Mate -- which, congratulations, by the way -- even after I gave him an order not to. You were well within line to do what you did. We may shift to human forms, but when it comes to Mates, we're no different than mundane wolves. We protect what's ours and we fight to death if need be."

"I didn't know."

"We should have told you, I'm sorry. But, now you know. You and your Mate are part of our Pack and will continue to be. Right now though, I agree with Bruce. You should head back to your room, get cleaned up, rest. Someone will bring food up to you shortly." Turning back to Bruce, Anthony lifted a brow, "But it won't be you. You're going back to the den. You're still too pale."

Bruce rolled his eyes and huffed, reaching a hand out to help Clinton and Phillip off the floor. "Yes, dear...." He cast a soft smile to both new Wolves. "Congratulations. Once Anthony permits me to do things again, I'll come to see you both and talk."

"Thank you," Clinton said to them both, letting Bruce help him up. His newly healed shoulder ached, and he wouldn't mind getting some more rest. He slipped his arm around Phillip and led him back at a slower pace through the keep to their room.

* * *

**Getting back into their room** , Phillip sat Clinton on the bed before grabbing his shirt up off the floor. "I have no idea what happened back there... but whatever it was, I'm very glad you're not seriously hurt."

Clinton scrubbed a hand over his face, brushing at the blood on it, his left arm lay resting in his lap, he wasn't up to lifting it just yet, sore all over again. "What happened was he was asking for it. I'm sorry my pack lost someone, but I am not sorry for taking him down. A Wolf like that does not belong in any pack."

Using the shirt he'd just picked up, Phillip sat back down next to Clinton and reached out, wiping the fabric down his Mate's cheeks and neck. "Who was it? I thought Anthony and Pepper were the only ones in your pack. Well, and I suppose Bruce counts as well."

"Obadiah. He was a friend of Anthony's father, I think? I've only met him twice - he was more a loner."

Phillip hummed softly, nodding as he finished wiping the blood off Clinton's face. He didn't understand why Obadiah would have reacted the way he had, but, they wouldn't ever know -- and honestly, he was quite alright with that. Whoever that Obadiah was, in the very short time he saw him, Phillip was scared of him. "I've never seen you fight before... that was... rather terrifying." He set the shirt down and curled up against Clinton's side, hugging around his middle gently. "I just got you back... didn't want to lose you again."

Clinton lay down, tugging Phillip with him. "I have only ever fought to protect a mate. I have no desire to be alpha of a pack. Unless someone threatens you, or my place in your life, I will not fight."

Wiggling his way under Clinton, he smiled up at him. "What about play fight and wrestling?"

"I will do that," he said. "I need to sleep," he added. "I did not sleep until the time-between-times. And my shoulder hurts."

"Then I'll stay right here with you." Kissing him gently, Phillip wrapped his arms and leg around Clinton, held him close and slowly allowed himself to drift off right along with his Mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Birthdays are for posting much as possible... right? ~R)


	17. Chapter 17

* * *

**It was some time later** before there was a knock at their bedroom door, Bruce poking his head in with a soft smile on his face and a tray of food in his hands. "Hello? Anyone awake in here?"

Phillip lifted his head from where he was lazily kissing and lapping at Clinton's injured shoulder and glanced to the door, ducking his head a bit. "Come in, Bruce."

Clinton opened his eyes, but didn't get up. "I didn't see any Wolves where I was in the South. I'm still getting it all mixed up, yeah?" he asked.

Bruce tilted his head questioningly as he moved into the room and set the tray of food down near their bed. "Getting what all mixed up?"

"Being part of a Wolf Pack."

Pulling a chair up, Bruce chuckled softly. "You're doing things just fine, Clinton. At least from my understanding of how things are. I'm still relatively new, as well. Anthony only turned me five springs ago."

"You can probably help Phillip better than me, then."

Phillip's eyes widened a bit as he looked back down to Clinton. "But... I don't want someone else helping me." He turned his attention back to Bruce, "No offense."

"None taken, I understand completely. When Anthony first turned me, I wanted nothing more than to curl up into him and forget the rest of the world existed for the rest of my life. We just assume it's a natural reaction to being turned."

Clinton growled slightly then whuffed, which would have made more sense if he weren't human shaped right now. "I just mean if you start freaking out. He was a Man, too." he said.

"Oh," Phillip relaxed a bit and scooted just a bit closer to Clinton while Bruce turned to set the plates of food down on the bed beside them, flinching just slightly at the pinch of turning from the waist like that.

"Neither of you have eaten yet today. You both should." His eyes turned to the mark on Clinton's shoulder and nodded. "Between Phillip's instincts kicking in and the magic, I don't think you'll have much of a mark left there before too long. How is it feeling?"

"Sore," Clinton said. "It's where the arrow got me. It will never be fully healed. But it's better than it might have been," he nodded then narrowed his eyes slightly. "Are you injured."

A shy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he shook his head and nudged the plates closer. "No... I'm not injured. Eat. Please?"

Phillip picked up both plates and drew them in towards himself and Clinton. He picked up a slice of dried beef and held it out to his Mate. "Hungry?"

"Yes." With his right hand he took the meat and tore into it. "Thank you, Bruce."

"You're welcome." Bruce sat quiet for a few moments, letting Clinton and Phillip eat (Phillip occasionally picking pieces of meat up off his plate to put onto Clinton's). Finally, he took a breath, readying himself to speak again. "Clinton? Do you mind if I ask... what is it like? Where you were?"

"South?" he asked. "It's... it's like here, but _more_ ," he said simply. "Everything is just. . . _more_."

Bruce hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "I've never been. Anthony and I may be going there, but I just thought I'd ask. So I have an idea as to what to maybe expect."

"It's no safer than here, but at the same time it's much safer. There are more magic folk, and some are very helpful. If you go, seek out Titania and Frigga, they're queens over there. They helped me," he smiled slightly. "Tell them I say hello." He looked at Phillip and grinned. "And that I have my Mate."

Phillip smiled back, leaning over to nudge his nose against Clinton's jaw before going back to gobbling down what was on his plate.

"I will do so. I believe that may be who we're going to see." Glancing at the door, he thought for a moment before looking back to the two Wolves on the bed. "I will tell you both something... but you must promise not to let on that you know. Anthony and I had both agreed we wouldn't be telling anyone until we were certain things were fine."

"Yes," Clinton said in his usual manner. He moved to sit up, wincing at the pull on his shoulder and waited.

"There's a very specific reason for why he and I will be going to the South to visit with Frigga and Titania." Bruce paused, gathered his thoughts and took a breath. "I was attempting to create a medicine of sorts that would help a friend who cannot bear Pups. It was to be ingested and then would repair the damage done to her reproductive system so that she would be able to carry."

Phillip chewed slowly, having really absolutely no clue what was being talked about, but listening and nodding along nonetheless.

"Pepper," Clinton said. He'd seen the scar, and wondered. "They can help her. Frigga re-made me when I was strong enough. She can do that for her, too."

"That's part of the reason we're going to go. Their way has got to be better than what I'd come up with." It no doubt would not leave her diving for a wash bucket to empty most of her stomach contents into within minutes.

Phillip tilted his head, mentally making a note to ask Clinton about what "re-made" meant. Looking to Bruce, he swallowed what he'd been chewing. "What's the other part of the reason?"

Bruce sat quiet for a long moment, pink creeping up his neck and cheeks as he glanced down to the bed. Absently, he picked at the blanket before smoothing it down. "Pepper refused to try the serum I'd created, told me if I was so certain it wouldn't hurt her, then surely I'd be gentlemanly and drink it first. To reassure her, I did..."

Clinton wasn't a stupid Wolf. He was still barely more than a Pup, but talking of Pepper's inability to whelp, coupled with how she and Anthony were protecting Bruce when he'd ended Obadiah. . . Anthony's over protectiveness, and how very small their pack was. "You're with Pup."

The pink that had been slowly creeping now rushed Bruce's face, extending all the way up to the tips of his ears as he gave a quick nod.

Phillip's eyes went wide, his jaw dropping as he stared at Bruce. "You... you're... how is that possible?"

Bruce sighed softly, reaching up to scratch at the place above his right brow. "It shouldn't be. The serum I created, though, was suppose to repair any injuries that happened on the inside that was preventing her from whelping. It was also infused with what magic I could think of that would help to regrow organs or parts of organs that couldn't just be repaired." He paused to take a deep breath and shrugged. "I suspect it did exactly what it was supposed to do and found a way to make it possible for me to bear."

Clinton looked at Phillip and smiled, bumping his shoulder gently. "When you want something enough, Magic finds a way. Otherwise Wolves like Anthony and Me wouldn't find mates like Bruce and You."

Phillip blushed a bit but leaned into Clinton's side gently. "So, this isn't something that happens then? When a human is turned and Mated?"

Shaking his head, Bruce leaned back a bit in the chair to get a little more comfortable. "No, this was an act of magic and science. Which is why we're going to the South. Anthony wants to see if Frigga or Titania can tell us if the Pup or I will even survive this. My base form is human, it's easier and less stressful for me to be human... but we're not sure if the Pup will be born human or Wolf.... or if other means will need to be taken in order for it to be born... there's many questions that keep Anthony awake at night that he's hoping they can answer."

"They will, have faith," Clinton said. "I was nearly mundane, Bruce. They remade me. They can remake you, if you want them to."

Bruce smiled at the Wolf and nodded. "Yes, I know. If this works, though... given how small our pack is... perhaps staying as I am won't be so bad." He shrugged and stood carefully, and it was only then that Phillip actually noticed the man's clothes were significantly baggier than other peoples. He wondered how he'd never noticed that before.

"Welcome to the pack, by the way, Phillip. I didn't get a chance to properly congratulate you both earlier." Bruce's smile was fond as he reached to ruffle Phillip's hair lightly. "If you have any questions or need help with anything, please do ask. I'm the only one here who knows what it's like to have been turned."

Phillip nodded and shifted his head closer to Clinton to avoid the hair ruffle, but smiled in return. "I will. Thank you."

Clinton grinned. "Be safe, Bruce. I wish you all the luck in the worlds."

Nodding, Bruce smiled, turned, and quietly left the room to return to the den Anthony had set up for him.

Once Bruce had left, Phillip moved the empty plates out of the way and curled himself up in Clinton's lap a bit, returning to kissing and lapping at his Mate's shoulder. "What did you mean? When you said they re-made you?"

"What does it sound like?" Clinton asked. Not defensive, but wondering what Phillip's human upraising would think it meant.

Phillip shrugged. "They started over. Made you all over again. But I don't understand that."

"Titania's magic is love, and joy. Frigga is for the physical, for healing. Working together, Titania kept me from feeling any fear, while Frigga took me apart, found what was broken, and mended it as best she could." He shrugged slightly as though it weren't horrific that he'd been taken apart to bone and reformed, molded and shaped. As though the years he was regaining his strength as barely more than a mundane wolf he didn't see her strip the flesh from the bone of a young boy and piece the shattered leg back together, then smooth muscle, fat, and skin back into place. Hadn't seen her do more, and other.

Blinking, Phillip looked Clinton over, his gaze coming to rest on his Mate's eyes. "...they took you apart?"

"Yes," he answered simply, looking back. He didn't say how sometimes it hurt so bad he wished he hadn't gone looking for help. He didn't mention how he was taken apart one piece at a time, until he was nothing but soul and bone and agony before he was pieced carefully back together. How old injuries had to remain, for the touch of silver and iron made them unhealable. How it took months to reaffix his magic, heart and mind lay literally bare. Phillip didn't need to know this. Clinton was certain that a matter of reproduction would be far less invasive than a matter of Magic.

Something told Phillip by just the sound of it, it had to have been painful. There's no way it wasn't. Reaching his hand up, he rested it palm flat to Clinton's cheek, leaning in to press a soft, slow kiss to his lips. "...What was broken? That nothing we did could help you?"

"Me," he said, leaning in for another kiss, sliding his hand down Phillip's skin, tracing the muscle of his back.

A lump formed in Phillip's chest and stomach. His mind went back to that horrible day, Clinton dying on their hallway floor, those arrows sticking out of him. It was his belief that, until that day, Clinton had been fine. Which meant the nugget of guilt that remained in the back of his mind sprang forward once more. He'd been the cause of Clinton being broken.

The Wolf pulled back, running his hand over Phillip's cheek. "What is it. What are you thinking."

"I broke you." Phillip glanced away, moving to press his face into Clinton's neck.

"No." He wrapped his arm around him, tugging him in close and tight. "No. I was broken before I found you - I did not know enough to know."

Phillip's arms slipped around the Wolf's shoulders, face still hidden in his neck as he breathed him in. With his senses now enhanced, the rich, woodsy scent of his Mate was as intoxicating as it was calming. The smell of earth, forest, and gentle breezes.

"I wish we could have helped you..." He murmured softly. "They did in three days what we could not in a month's time..."

"No. They didn't," he said simply, nuzzling his Mate's hair. The scent of fire, and water, and the rock that held earth together. "I'm not larger because of the re-making."

"Then... how? You were only gone three days..."

"Seven years," Clinton whispered.

Phillip pulled back, his eyes wide in surprise. Looking Clinton over, he blinked and yes, okay, this did look more like the job of time taking hold and filling him out. Which also explained why he _acted_ older than the last time Phillip remembered talking with him. Seemed a bit more experienced with the world. "...I was ready to stop going on in the time you were gone... how could you have survived seven years?"

"I had gone to die the death of a wolf. I lived when I was told I could be a Wolf again. I held onto that, knowing time flowed differently - hoping you would be here when I came home."

Lurching forward, Phillip's lips smashed into Clinton's, kissing him deeply, possessively. With a soft gasp for air when he pulled back, he rested their foreheads together and swallowed hard. "I could never want anyone more than you. Providing I hadn't died of a broken heart, I would wait for you for a hundred years."

"I would rather have been your pet if it meant you did not die of a broken heart. But I am your MATE. And you are mine." He tugged him close again, his left hand resting on Phillip's leg as he kissed him. Did his best to show him he was his _world_.

Phillip's heart thrummed loudly in his chest. Mate Mate Mate. His Mate. And how that wasn't strange and terrifying to think about, Phillip didn't know. But it was a wonderful thought and feeling. "Seven years... is a long time..." He murmured, kissing down Clinton's jaw. "Perhaps... we have some catching up to do?"

"Three days is forever, if you don't know it's not going to be," he lay Phillip down and kissed him again, soft and thorough.

"Lifetimes," He murmured back against Clinton's lips, arms and legs wrapped around his Mate. His hands sunk into the soft, thick hair at the nape of his neck, hips lifting a bit into Clinton's to show his interest and willingness.

Clinton rut up against him, like they had in that loft so long ago. He kissed him with intent, growling softly before moving to his throat and licking at the light scar of their bonding.

Whining softly, Phillip's eyes closed as he rocked and rutted back. His head tilted to the side, giving his Mate more room to lick and kiss as their bodies slid against each other.

There was never a knock to the door before it opened, clearly privacy was not a thing for Anthony either. The man stepped in, hands slapping together only twice. "Clinton, I know you've missed him, but stop ravishing him. It's a gorgeous night! Plenty of moonlight! We need to take him on a run. Get him used to the Wolf form. You'll have plenty of time bed him. Come on! Let's go for a run!"

Clinton growled slightly and didn't stop rocking against his Mate. He ignored his alpha and kissed Phillip so he couldn't reply, either.

Rolling his eyes, Anthony sighed. "Clinton... I am well aware of how good it feels to be Mated and getting to properly take care of your Mate but, I promise you, you can try your damnedest to breed him once we get back. You know... after you've seen him run for awhile. In the moonlight. All Wolf like...."

Clinton slowed down and groan-growled into Phillip's mouth before kneeling back and giving Anthony his best 'not impressed' look. In a moment he was Wolf, still half glaring at him from where he sat between him and Phillip.

Anthony quirked a brow and smirked. "Oh don't give such a look, Clinton. You know well as I do, a run'll be good for him, get him used to his limbs." Turning to start out of the room, he glanced over his shoulder, the smirk still in place. "Plus, it usually ends in very enthusiastic and creative mating once you're home." Without another word, he shifted to his own Wolf form and trotted off down the hall, barking out for Pepper to join them.

Phillip looked to Clinton, scritched his ear and kissed to top of his head. "Maybe we will be lucky, and he won't make us stay out too long?"

Clinton snorted and nosed at him, tail thumping. His left foreleg was held just a little off the mattress, he was babying it.

Focusing on that warm and safe place inside him again, Phillip shifted to his own Wolf form and slowly opened his eyes when he felt the warmth of his new magic fade and the warmth of fur replace it. Leaning over he licked at Clinton's left shoulder gently a few times before hopping carefully off the bed. He would have much rather had stayed in bed, doing whatever he possibly could with his Mate.

Clinton hopped down and nipped at his shoulder. He pointed his nose at the doorway before moving ahead. Even on three legs he was pretty quick, keeping his left forepaw tucked close to protect his shoulder.

Phillip stayed close to Clinton, not wanting to stray far from him and risk somebody disappearing or his Mate getting hurt again.

 **At the door** , the black Wolf and red Wolf turned to watch the new couple approach. When Clinton got closer, Anthony came to him and nosed at his shoulder before taking a step back, head tilted and whimpering softly. He'd forgotten Clinton's shoulder was injured -- he had other things on his mind -- and he didn't want to hurt him any more than he already was. But, at the same time, he _really_ wanted to go running with his pack (minus Bruce who was not allowed to go running with them just now).

Clinton gave a growly bark, licking up under Anthony's jaw and wagging his tail. He'd keep up, old Wolf. Just you watch.

Giving a bark of reply, Anthony's tail wagged as he spun around and tore off out the door, Pepper right behind.

Clinton yipped at Phillip, nudging him with his nose. _Come run with us_ , he seemed to say before tearing off on a three legged run, pausing to look back and make sure Phillip followed.

His own tail wagging, Phillip started after them yelping for them to wait up. He was still getting used to moving around like that. Bolting off across the grass, he jumped and yipped and nipped at Clinton's hind legs before picking up speed and following Anthony and Pepper. The moon was still bright and mostly full; full enough that it cast a silvery blue glow through the woods they ran through, calling out to each other with yips like laughter as Phillip instigated a game of tag.

Clinton was filled with joy, racing after them. Catching Phillip and nosing at him, nipping at the alpha and beta of their pack to let them know that yes, he kept up just fine.

Phillip ran up a fallen and propped up tree trunk and took a leap from the end when he ran out of tree, going right over Clinton and rolling nose over tail when his feet hit the ground and couldn't keep up with the momentum. When he came to a stop, his black and brown fur was covered in sticks and old dried leaves.

Anthony skid to a halt, panting and wagging his tail at an alarming speed. He barked and nudged and barked again before turning back to Clinton, not wanting to tread on the newly mated Wolf's territory of full on nudging Phillip back to his feet.

Clinton stepped forward, licked at Phillip's muzzle and nudged at his side, at his flank, with a concerned yip and wagging tail. He nipped at Phillip's ear, nudged his shoulder again, sensing whether he got hurt. He got his nose under Phillip's shoulder and SHOVED, pushing him to his feet.

It took a minute to finally get his bearings, but once he was pushed back up to his feet, Phillip gave a mighty shake -- sending sticks, twigs, and leaves flying all directions -- before he turned to lick under Clinton's chin and yip. _Not hurt.  A bit disoriented? Yes. But not hurt._

Clinton whuffed, licking his face, his muzzle, between his eyes, behind his ears before grabbing one between gentle jaws and giving a little tug, limp-running a little and turning for Phillip to follow.

Phillip's eyes drifted shut a bit at the licks, a soft little whine falling from him at having his ear grasped and tugged as it was. Damn Anthony for barging in and interrupting them! Though, he had to admit it was a fun run. And he was really loving how his Mate looked right then. Happy, at ease, the moonlight darkening his coat and reflecting just slightly of the shine. He was beautiful, both as a Wolf and a Man.

Clinton barked again, running to him then away, graceful even without using his injured paw. He wagged his tail.

Pouncing a bit, Phillip yipped and bounded off after him, willing to follow his Mate to the end of the world and back.

Anthony barked and yipped from a little farther ahead, Pepper sending up a howl as she flushed some deer out of hiding and took off after them. A good moonlit hunt was always fun! And plus, fresh meat was definitely better than what they'd had at home.

Clinton wagged his tail and howled, chasing off after them. Now THIS. This is what he's missed these past years

Phillip chased after the others, occasionally taking to a side to try and herd a deer back to the others, but never attempting to attack one. His new Wolf instincts were telling him to, but the human side of him cringed at the thought. He'd let the others do the kill, he'd just chase.

Clinton kept up with the others, nipping at the heels as they ran them down. It was a good size, would make for an excellent meal. When Anthony signaled for them to take it down, it was Clinton's jaws closest to the stag's throat, clamping hard and tight as the others helped drag it down.

Once down and staying down, Anthony shifted back to human form and gave a nod as he looked it over. "Impromptu hunting trip never hurt anything." Turning his eyes to Clinton, the alpha grinned. "You brought it down, you can have the antlers to chew on once we get it home and taken care of." Reaching down, he carefully hoisted the animal up and across his shoulders, the only way they'd get the deer home without dragging it.

Clinton danced back, wagging his tail and yipped. He didn't have the energy to shift just right now, and if he did he'd try to help carry, and if he tried to help carry he'd pull his shoulder again.

Phillip followed the alpha and beta back to the Keep, walking alongside Clinton and nudging him worriedly every so often, making sure his Mate was still okay.

Clinton licked his Mate’s face at every nudge. He was just tired. It was good work. His tongue lolled otherwise, so happy to have had a good run and hunt.

Getting back to the Keep, Anthony took the stag off behind the building to take care of it -- the sooner the better. Phillip, on the other hand, nuzzled against Clinton's neck, licked across his snout and started for their bedroom.

Clinton whined, looking back at the path Anthony had taken, twice and with ears perked forward, before following Phillip.

Phillip glanced back at Clinton's whines, head tilted questioningly.

The Wolf considered the differences between himself and his Mate. He barked encouragingly, wagging his tail, before turning and running at a hopalong pace to where the stag would be taken apart. He did not help with a kill to miss out on the still warm meat.

Whimpering softly, Phillip took a hesitant step to follow him, only to be stopped by a hand on his fur. Looking up, he found Bruce smiling softly down at him.

"Trust me, it's better if you don't follow. We both may be Wolves now, but our base forms are Man. Fresh raw meat doesn't necessarily agree with us often. Follow me, there's still some bread and milk left out."

Casting one last glance off toward where Clinton had bounded off to, Phillip decided the other man was right. Bread and milk sounded more appealing than raw meat, anyway.

Clinton made his way 'round to where Anthony was and _whined_. Could he please have some?

Glancing over, Anthony huffed a soft chuckle. "Give me a minute or two, Pup. Here, chew on this until I can get a portion skinned and cut for you." The antlers had been the first thing he'd removed and set aside, specifically for Clinton (and Phillip, should he want to try one), they were good for the bones.

Turning his attention back to what he was doing, he carefully began preparing the deer for butchering. There was a lot of meat there! Definitely enough for a few meals and to jerky some to put away for colder weather. "I'm keeping the skin, though." It would make a nice warm little blanket for his and Bruce's Pup to curl up in. Hopefully.

Clinton yipped, gnawing on the antler a moment before nosing at the deer, wanting so much to just tear in, but knowing that wasn't the way of _people_.

Anthony huffed. "I'm working on it." Getting a good enough section ready, he cut off a fair amount and tossed it down to Clinton. "Don't let Pepper know I did that, she'll say I'm spoiling you." He teased, a playful little smirk on his lips.

Clinton whined and yowl-barked his thanks before tearing into it, down on his haunches, holding the piece still with his good forepaw and ripping into it, wagging happily.

Working for a bit longer in silence, Anthony cut off a couple of smaller pieces and tossed those down as well, before putting the rest aside to be put in the smoke house and the hide for tanning and softening.

"So Pup," he lifted a brow and glanced back down to Clinton. "Are you planning to, or would like to, make a den for Phillip?"

Clinton wagged his tail as he continued eating, not about to stop for any reason when his tail would speak for him.

"You're welcome to pick a room here, there's plenty of them left open."

Clinton looked up then, wagging his tail and nosing a choice piece to Anthony in thanks before he went back to eating.

Picking up the piece offered to him, Anthony cut it into strips to easier eat in human form. "Just be sure you let me know which room you choose, so I can let Jarvis know that it no longer will be requiring cleaning."

Clinton whuffed. He would have to sniff out all the available corners before choosing the right one for his Mate. He wagged his tail again, finishing up and licking his chops with a thankful yip.

Anthony nodded and tossed the other antler down to Clinton as well. "Take those and go back to your Mate, Pup. We will see you tomorrow."

Clinton nudged them both atop each other and half dragged them along as he carried them up to his bedroom, pushing through the door and hop-dragging them in backward.

Phillip, back in his Man form, propped himself up on his elbows on the bed, watching in bewildered amusement as Clinton hauled the antlers in. "I was wondering what was keeping you. Would you like some help?"

Clinton whuffed and got them in on his own, thank you very much, then brought 'em over to the bed and sat on the floor, chewing on one of the points.

The thin sheet pooling in his lap, Phillip sat up and leaned over the side of the bed, watching his Mate in fond amusement. He thought for a moment before shifting again (surprised to find that it was a little bit easier this time around), and slid off the bed. He moved around the antler and set himself down at Clinton's side, just watching him.

Clinton stopped then nudged the unchewed antler at him with a little tail thump. He licked at Phillip's muzzle again, his breath all wolf and blood and meat, and nudged the antler at him again before going back to chewing on his own. Felt good on his teeth.

Phillip laid down catching it between his paws to hesitantly start chewing at it. It was an awkward taste, but nothing he couldn't handle, and it did feel nice.

He chewed at it for awhile, until the point of one was a soggy blunt nub. Sitting up, his attention turned back to Clinton. After a moment he leaned in, licking at the Wolf's muzzle, the top of his head, by his ear.

Clinton looked up, ears perking forward as he tilted his head.

Gently he nipped at Clinton's ear, giving it a gentle tug towards the bed before letting go and taking a half step backwards, tail wagging just a little bit.

Clinton nosed at the antlers before raising his head and wagging his tail, moving to jump onto the bed.

Phillip hopped up on the bed a bit awkwardly, but he made it. He stretched out, his front end lowered, rear end up, yawned widely and nudged at Clinton's neck again before shifting back to human form. "Which way are you planning to sleep tonight?"

Clinton started nosing at the blankets, building up a nest, and just looked at Phillip.

Nodding, he helped to nest up the blankets and snuggle himself into them, making sure to leave room for Clinton.

Clinton curled up with him, resting his head on Phillip's stomach with a happy groan.


	18. Chapter 18

* * *

**Phillip, for the most part** , settled into his change rather well. Even his mother accepted the fact her son was now a Wolf. He mostly would stay in his human form, though there were more and more times where he'd shift in order to play with Clinton and snuggle a bit.

At the start of Phillip's second week as a Wolf, Jarvis approached Clinton with a polite head bow. "Sir, Master Anthony has informed I'm to help you in determining which room you would like to make a den for your Mate. He also wished for me to inform you that he and Master Bruce will be leaving this evening for a short journey."

Clinton shifted and stood. He mostly only used his human form when speaking was necessary (or when bedding his Mate, or when he wished to simply hold him close). "When will they be leaving?" he asked, tilting his head.

"It is my understanding they are gathering together belongings now, and intend to set out just before supper." Jarvis, who had been a servant for Anthony’s family for many, many years, never even so much as blinked an eye or glanced away as the Wolf became bare human flesh. "They are in their den at the moment, I believe."

Clinton nodded, "I'll nose around for a den after they leave," he said, intending to wait near the egress. He wanted to see them before they left.

"Shall you be requiring anything else, Sir?"

"No, thank. If you see Mother or Phillip, let them know I'm near Anthony's den?"

With a nod, Jarvis gave a slight bow before turning and starting back off through the Keep to return to the kitchen and check on the supper to be served that night.

Clinton shifted back and then went to lay across the hall leading to the den, just as much guarding as making sure they wouldn't leave without goodbye.

It wasn't long before the door to the den opened, Anthony stepping out first with the deer skin blanket wrapped around a small bundle of items they were taking with them. He drew up short when he saw Clinton laying across the hall. "Something you need, Pup?"

Clinton shifted and stood, lifting his chin. "I wanted to wish you well on your journey, and ask permission to speak with Bruce before you go."

Glancing back over his shoulder, Anthony gave a small nod before stepping into the hall and out of the way of Bruce.

Arms holding another blanket, carefully positioned in front of him, Bruce gave his Mate a smile and nod. "I will meet you outside."

Anthony leaned in without a word, gently placing a kiss to Bruce's temple before giving Clinton's shoulder a squeeze as he walked by. "Pepper's in charge while we're gone. Should be back in a day or two."

"Yes," Clinton said, nosing under Anthony's chin as he passed. He waited until he'd gone before stepping in and nosing under Bruce's chin, acknowledging Bruce was above him in their command chain.

"I want to tell you about the re-making. I know it won't be as complete as mine, but I want to warn you, it is not painless. I want to assure you, life is precious to them. Keep in mind no matter how it gets, they will value your Pup's life as much as your own." He bit his lips. "It _hurts_ , Bruce," he whispered. "You have to keep in mind your goal."

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched up to a small smile as he reached out to squeeze Clinton's shoulder gently. "If it comes to that needing to happen, I will remember that. Though, Anthony and I have both discussed what we will do once we receive word there. If there's a need for the re-making, then we will do it. If there's no reason for it, and if Frigga and Titania can find nothing out of place or wrong with me or the Pup, then we're not going to worry about that."

Clinton nodded. "I didn't know what to expect, and- I didn't want you not to know," he finished, ducking his head. He hugged him carefully then shifted, lifting his head to lick at Bruce's fingers and wish him well.

"Clinton, wait..." Bruce took a breath before the Wolf could scurry off. "If this works. If it turns out having a Pup doesn't require needing to be re-made at any point...."

Clinton wagged his tail swiftly. Yipped. _Yes_. Whether himself or his mate. _Absolutely YES._ He danced up on his hind legs and yipped again to get the point home.

Laughing softly, he smiled and nodded. "Alright, alright, I'll take that as a yes. I will see what I can do to make what I have left not taste quite so horrible." He reached down, scritching behind Clinton's ears gently. "We'll see you all in a couple days. Hopefully with a new little Pup for you to chase around."

Clinton panted happily, tongue lolling. He chased his tail once before tearing off through the keep, nipping hello at his alpha's ankles on his way past.

Anthony yelped in surprise, mock glaring at Clinton as he went tearing past. When Bruce arrived at his side, he quirked a brow at him. "You told him, didn't you?"

"Hmm?"

"Clinton. You told him we're going to have a Pup."

Bruce shrugged and smiled nosing under Anthony's chin before starting off down the path leading to the woods. "It might have come up in conversation, at some point."

Rolling his eyes, Anthony shook his head and followed after his Mate, taking to Wolf form with the bundle hanging from around his neck as he went.

 **Clinton tore through the keep** , running off his energy until he realised, coming to a stop that almost sent him tumbling, that he hadn't really seen Mother since he returned -- he was so wrapped up in her son. He sought her out now, nosing into the room where she was, wagging his tail hesitantly.

Looking up from her place at the window seat, where she sat most days reading or sewing -- all the things she once enjoyed and had missed so much -- her eyes softened when they fell upon the brown Wolf. "Well good day to you, young sir."

She set her sewing aside and held her hand out for him.

He came close, licking her fingers and nosing under her hand for a pet. His magic tickled her, but did not try to do anything. He could control that now, merely brushing against the people he cared for.

Smiling, she patted the window seat beside her, motioning for him to hop up and sit with her. "I was beginning to think I'd been forgotten."

Clinton hopped up and whined, crawling forward and skulking with his head low and ears down.

"Oh, you sweet Pup. I didn't truly think I'd been forgotten. I knew you would come to visit eventually. Besides, I suspect you've been rather busy trying to teach my son how to behave like a Wolf." Jocelyn's fingers stroked over Clinton's ears as he got closer. "It's good to see you so well again."

He licked at her chin, and her cheek before butting the top of his head up against her chest, wagging his tail, glad.

Laughing softly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close, her cheek resting on his head. "It's good to have you home, as well. The time you spent South was no doubt difficult, but good to you."

A small smile spread across her lips. "I trust you said hello to my darling great-aunt for me while you were there? I can tell, still, that Titania had a hand in helping to make you well again."

Clinton pulled back, his ears perked straight forward and if ever a young Wolf looked startled, it was him.

Again, she laughed and shook her head. "Oh, I'm sure she does not even remember me. I would slip between worlds as a young girl to go visit her. When I became too old though, I was no longer allowed to go visit. Then I was married to Phillip's father and even if I were allowed, I couldn't because I was carrying Phillip. It has been more than twenty of our years since I was last there."

He licked her cheek again and pressed his head to her chest, wagging his tail slowly.

"You needn't apologize, Clinton. But thank you. I'm just pleased she was able to help you."

He backed up, licking at her hand, and lay down in the space beside her, putting his head on her lap.

Smiling, Jocelyn stroked her hand down Clinton's head soothingly, turning her attention back out the window and just letting her mind peacefully drift.

 **Clinton slept well beside Mother** as she later did her needlework, his head in her lap and the sunshine on his fur. As he slept, his excitement for Anthony and Bruce’s new Pup took background to the thought that perhaps, somehow, he and Phillip may have a litter of their own.

But how? Would he ask Phillip to take on the Change, after he’d already had to change so much - or would he take it on himself, making himself vulnerable for however long it took to whelp. He was a better fighter, but with learning, he was sure Phillip would be able to hold his own.

The Man-Wolf seemed so much more submissive, however - which made it all the....

That was as far as his thoughts went before Clinton fell to slumber.

Phillip wandered through the keep aimlessly, humming softly to himself and peeking into different rooms in search of Clinton. His senses had grown enough that he was able to seemingly track the Wolf, pausing when the scent lingered outside one door in particular. Head tilted, he approached slowly, hand reaching out to grasp the handle and open to check inside.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” The pleasant, calm female voice behind him startled him. Jumping back, he thrust his hands into his pockets.

“I wasn’t... I didn’t -”

Pepper smiled softly as she stepped forward. “That’s the den Anthony made for Bruce. No one is allowed in there except for the two of them. Not without their permission, at least.”

Phillip’s eyes glanced back to the door. That explained the near overwhelming scent of the other two Wolves. Looking back to Pepper, he gave a small frown. “Den?”

“I’m not sure how it goes in the wild, but in Wolves culture, a pack is made of small clusters. Families, basically. When Wolves take a Mate, the dominant mate makes a den for the other. It’s their own little private place. Mostly used for whelping and during heats. Pups stay in the dens until they’re old enough to sleep alone and take care of themselves, mostly.”

Stealing another glance to the door, Phillip nodded, took another couple steps back. He didn’t want to risk somehow upsetting Anthony and Bruce when they returned. Pepper smiled and reached out to ruffle his hair gently as she moved by him. “If you’re looking for Clinton, I believe I saw him wandering off to spend time with your mother.”

“Thank you,” Phillip ducked his head slightly before turning and heading off to his mother’s room, hopefully to find Clinton.

 **Cinton’s ears perked as he woke up** , listening to the soft susurrus of thread moving through cloth, and the sound of tentative footsteps. He raised his head, ears perked forward and tail thumping against Mother’s gown as the door to the room opened.

Phillip poked his head into the room, smiling softly at the sight. “There you are.”

Jocelyn lifted her eyes, smiling back at her son. “He’s been keeping me company. Though I suppose you can have him back, if you’d like him.”

Clinton yipped and leaped over her legs to land on the floor, bumping his nose against Phillip’s hip and nosing his crotch hello before going to the door, looking back at him as if to say ‘you coming?’

A rush of pink rose up on his cheeks, a shy smile on his lips as he waved to his mother before turning to follow Clinton back out into the hall. Once in the hall, Phillip reached down, sinking his fingers into his Mate’s soft fur. “It’s a nice day out, I thought perhaps we could go find a quiet sunny spot to lay out in for awhile?” His fingers slowly made their way up to play across the outer edges of Clinton’s ears. “Perhaps somewhere hidden…?”

Clinton happily wagged his tail and groaned playfully at the petting before shifting, unfolding to stand in front of Phillip and bring him in close, nosing his throat. “Yes,” he agreed. “I want to know, do you like the sun to come to you in the morning first light, or better last light, or all day?”

Snuggling in close, Phillip took in a deep breath and thought for a moment. “My rooms have always been indirect,” he answered, giving a shrug and a kiss to Clinton’s shoulder. “Though, I have always enjoyed the mornings waking in the loft of the forge to the morning light.”

“East,” Clinton nodded, wrapping his arms securely around him. “I will make our Den in the East. I will take more than one room, so that we can keep Mother close to us. It will be simpler to keep you both safe if you’re both close,” the Wolf decided.

A quiet hum escaped Phillip, his smile still soft and shy on his lips. “I would like that, very much.” He nuzzled in against Clinton again, pressing another soft kiss to his shoulder.

Clinton grinned and pulled back enough to kiss Phillip. “Come lie with me in the sun?” he asked.

“That was why I came to find you, after all,” Phillip’s smile turned playful, arms sliding low on Clinton’s hips.

Clinton pouted and tugged at Phillip’s clothes. “Why you've got to wear these? We’re not living with Men anymore.”

Phillip blushed a bit and shrugged, reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it down off his arms. “Old habits die hard?” Shirt off, he glanced off towards one end of the hall, then the other before dropping his pants as well. “Better?”

“Yes,” Clinton said, holding him close, skin to skin. “Clothing is for hiding. No one is born clothed,” he said, pulling back and taking his hand, kissing Phillip’s cheek before walking with him down the hall.

Chuckling, Phillip gave Clinton’s hand a gentle squeeze as they walked out to the rear lawn. With a turn, he pressed a kiss to Clinton’s cheek, focused on the warm, safe space within so he could shift. Once he was, he yipped once, turned, and started trotting for the treeline.

Clinton grinned and smoothly shifted, going after him and nipping at his shoulder affectionately as he did so. Love. His Mate. He would have a beautiful Den, Clinton would make sure of it.

Phillip yipped and jumped, playfully pouncing at Clinton as they made their way through the woods again. Following the stream, he came to a stop once they reached a small clearing. Soft grass underfoot, a canopy of green leaves overhead, and sunlight pouring in through breaks in the trees. With a huff, he dropped to the ground, taking a moment to shift and roll onto his back, smiling and panting slightly.

Clinton pounced on him, nosing his belly and tickling his skin with his fur, licking all over his face before shifting to man-form and laying atop him, kissing him slow and deep. “My Mate,” he half growled, possessive.

Groaning softly, Phillip’s arms wrapped around Clinton, holding him close as he kissed back. “I love you,” he nuzzled and kissed against his jaw, moving himself enough for Clinton to settle between his legs.

He rolled his hips against Phillip’s, getting himself comfortable and mouthing at his throat. “If we could have Pups, would you want them?” he asked, nosing his hair.

Head rolled to the side, his heart did a flip. “If that is something that could happen,” He swallowed and nodded. “I would. Yes.”

Clinton growled a little in approval, kissing his temple and nuzzling at him. “Would you prefer I carry?” he asked - thinking it better than to ask him to do it himself. He’d suffered many changes as it was.

Pressing his lips together in thought, Phillip nuzzled back gently. His heart jumped a bit as he swallowed again. “Could _I_?” He asked, hesitant in case Clinton had truly had his heart set on being the one to carry. “You’re going to be making a Den for us.…”

“Yes,” Clinton said. “I will protect you.” He nipped at Phillip’s ear gently, stroking a hand down his side, just a gentle pet, not meant to be anything other than cuddling in the sun, his weight pressing his Mate down, his body protecting him without reservation. “I want us to have our own litter.”

Phillip nodded, kissing Clinton’s shoulder and neck again softly before nosing under his Mate’s chin. “I would like that very, very much.” The idea of having children was never something he’d ever given much thought to, at least not seriously. Though now, with Clinton, and everything that had happened, knowing that Bruce and Anthony were to be off in the world between having their own Pup... well... maybe it was something he could finally let himself think seriously upon.

“Before they left, Bruce promised that if it was safe, he would find a way for us to whelp as well,” he continued, kissing his temple again and rolling off to the side, cuddling Phillip close to himself. “Our own family, part of the pack.”

“I suspect my mother always knew grandchildren were something that would never be a part of her life,” Phillip nestled himself in against Clinton, nose pressed to the hollow of his neck. “She’ll be pleased by this.” He chuckled softly, tilting his head back to look Clinton in the eyes. “Our own little ones to chase and play with.”

“It’s fun,” Clinton said, smiling soft. “Teaching them to walk, coaxing them to run. There’s no feeling like it.”

A thrill went through him, causing him to wiggle slightly. “I’m already looking forward to this. To having our own Pups.”

“I have faith in Bruce. He helped me heal your hand. He will help us have Pups of our own.” Clinton tangled their legs and nosed at his skin, breathing him in as the sun shone down on them, warming them.

Phillip sighed contently, his body relaxing into Clinton’s. His mind wandered, wondering about how the other two Wolves were getting along; if the beings from the South were able to help them and ensure that their Pup was born safe and sound. “Will I have to go to the South, do you think?” He asked quietly, enjoying the gentle silence that had fallen over them. “When it’s time for our Pup to be born?”

“If you do, I will take you, and Mother along as well. If it is safe, and Bruce did not need their aid, then perhaps we will stay at home,” Clinton whispered, closing his eyes and soaking in the world around them, safe and sound.

Smiling into Clinton’s chest, Phillip sighed softly and closed his own eyes. The gentle breeze and warm sunlight lulling him towards a peaceful doze. “I hope they are doing well…” he mumbled, voice growing thick as he slowly slipped off.

“They’ll be home soon. I’ll go hunting after our nap.”

Phillip nodded and nuzzled in again, allowing himself to drift off against his Mate.

* * *

**It was not long past dark** when a light could be seen coming towards the keep, a small, high pitched yipping carrying through the air.

Clinton had already come back from hunting, making sure there was fresh meat and he even cut it up (well, most of it, he left both hind legs be - for tearing into) and he shifted, running out into the night to greet. He remembered what a young pup sounded like, this was his Pack come back from the South. His Alpha, and his Alpha’s Mate, and their Pup. The pack was growing. There was a PUP.

Clinton was very excited about this.

Both in their human forms, Bruce and Anthony both looked slightly frazzled, but oh so very pleased. There was a sling around Bruce, hidden within was their young Pup, trying hard to wiggle her way out and to walk -- which at the moment was something that just was not going to happen. Not until they taught her where she could and could not go on her own.

Clinton bounded up to them. He yipped, jumping up onto Anthony and licking under his chin - then danced back on his hind legs to peer into the sling at the Newpup with a curious whine. He licked at Bruce’s cheek and, paws on his arm, kept looking at the Pup, tail wagging so hard his hind end was half ready to knock him off balance.

Anthony laughed softly, scritching at Clinton’s ears before the Wolf danced away to try and see the Pup hidden in the sling. “We’re nearly home, Clinton. We’ll introduce you to her once we’re there. Run on ahead and get everyone into the study.”

Clinton yipped, wagging his tail and turned, racing back to the Keep, howling for everyone to get their selves to the study. He sought out Phillip and Mother, he wasn’t sure they’d know what he was saying, tugging at her skirt and nipping at his heel to get them to follow him, wagging his tail so hard his hind end wagged along with it. Yipping, and dancing back and forth from them to the door.

Jocelyn looked first to her son, then to Clinton. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but it was certainly good whatever it was. Nodding, she stood to follow, Phillip close behind. “Alright, Clinton. We’re following. What is it, Sweetling?”

By the time they followed to the study, Anthony and Bruce were already at the door, waiting to go in. The yipping from the sling had quieted down to a soft, sleepy whimper-whine, Bruce’s eyes soft and fond as he looked down into the fabric fold and stroked his hand down across soft fur.

Jarvis and Pepper were also there, Jarvis standing off to the side. Clinton yipped again, dancing in place, chasing his tail. Pack! Pack was growing!

Anthony stepped into the study first, a pleased and proud smirk on his face before motioning for Bruce to step forward. “Everyone, Bruce and I would like for you to meet the newest member of the Pack.”

Bruce settled himself carefully on the floor, folding down the sling until the little bundle of grey fur could roll out and clamber to her feet. “Maria, meet the rest of your family.”

The little Wolf looked around, sniffed the air, and approached Pepper first to check out, then Jocelyn and Phillip, before approaching Clinton. She sniffed at his paws once, then again, before playfully pouncing his left paw, gnawing at it with her little muzzle.

Clinton nosed her gently, going down on his forepaws and moving it back and forth to play with her, his rear end and tail up in the air and wagging playfully. He whuffed quietly and nosed her, nipping her ear affectionately before yipping whilst down on her level. Such a pretty Pup! He lay down on the floor, yipping up at her parents before hunkering down, ears forward and yipping at her instead, nosing at her as she gnawed on his foot. Pup!

Phillip grinned from ear to ear as he watched Clinton play with the little Pup. The puppy’s tail wagging just as hard as Clinton’s as she yipped back and moved from gnawing on his paw to climbing all over him, nipping at his ear and pouncing across him as best she could.

It was perhaps the most wonderful sight in the world right at that moment, and it was one that assured Phillip he’d done the right thing, for both Clinton and himself, by agreeing to want Pups of their own. It was obvious Clinton had experience with them and would be a very, very good father to their own.

Clinton half tumbled on the floor with her, letting her climb all over him, and nosing at her rear when it seemed like she’d tumble off. He yipped happily, licking her just once, a little kiss of yep, pack, and letting their scent mingle. Playing with her on the floor like he had his own long ago. Pups were the best thing about Pack.

Anthony glanced to Clinton, then Phillip. He could see the look on the newly turned Wolf’s face as he watched the two playing on the floor, and he knew what the newest members of the pack had talked about and discussed. Taking a breath, he gripped Bruce’s shoulder fondly. “Looks like we have a babysitter,” He teased softly.

Bruce chuckled, but nodded. “Would appear so. Though, I think playtime should continue in the morning.”

Clinton’s bark was nothing short of a whine of disappointment. They just came home! Then he nosed at the little Pup, who yawned hugely, and had to agree. He moved enough to pick Pup up by the scruff and stand, bringing her over to her family, wagging his tail slowly.

Bruce smiled, reaching out to take the little she Wolf from him and settle her back into the sling. “I promise, Clinton. First thing in the morning, you are more than welcome to spend time playing with her. Right now though, we three need to get some sleep.”

Anthony helped Bruce back to his feet, nodding to the others in the room. “We will see you all in the morning.”

Looking back to Phillip and then Clinton, Bruce’s smile softened. “If you’d like, tomorrow afternoon I will spend discussing things with you and Phillip.”

Clinton wagged his tail, staying put before going back to Phillip and taking his hand in his mouth, tugging him away.

“Discussing things?” Jocelyn turned her eyes to Phillip and Clinton, a curious but slightly amused look on her face.

Phillip blushed and shrugged, ducked his head, and allowed Clinton to pull him off out of the study after Anthony and Bruce had slipped out.

 **Clinton shifted when he had the space** and picked Phillip up, kissing him as he carried him back to their room. He would choose and begin readying their den in the morning, that was for certain. For now he wanted his Mate.

Arms wrapped around Clinton’s neck, Phillip whined into the kiss, sensing Clinton’s want. He squirmed in his Mate’s arms just a bit, just enough to make it known that he wouldn’t say no once they reached the bedroom. He pulled his mouth away for a moment, just long enough to kiss and nip at Clinton’s ear lightly. “Once we speak with Bruce, and do what we need to do, we’ll have a Pup of our own, Clinton. Ours.”

“One of us,” Clinton murmured into his mouth as he carried him up the stairs. “Ours. Our pack.” His eyes were wet as he started kissing him again, pushing through into their room and laying Phillip down on their bed, hands stroking along his body hungrily. He couldn’t begin to put to words how he felt at the prospect of having a Pup that would live long. That he wouldn’t have to watch grow old and go to Sleep.

Phillip, having been trying to get himself into the habit of not wearing clothes... as awkward as it was, for once was actually without his slacks or shirt. He keened softly at the feel of their blankets against his back once he was set on the bed, kissing and touching back, a hand moving down to wrap around and start to stroke Clinton hard. They would have their own Pup. Their own little pack. A part of him whined out more, crying to go talk to Bruce right that moment and find out what must be done in order to get started right away. Phillip wanted so much to be able to bring that level of happiness and excitement back to his Mate’s eyes.

Clinton licked along Phillip’s body, gasping when he was stroked. He reached for the little bottle, taking some slick to his fingertips, smoothing it out and placing one at Phillip’s hole, stroking until he could fit the tip inside. He licked Phillip’s skin, gathering the taste of the day and sweat onto his tongue before kissing him again, rutting into his hand as he pressed him looser.

Phillip whined and squirmed against Clinton’s fingers, his own wrapping just a bit tighter around Clinton’s cock. He kissed back in earnest, licking and lapping at his Mate’s tongue and mouth. He wished it wouldn’t take quite so long to prepare him for being mounted, yet at the same time, the preparation and lead up was incredible. Most times. When he wasn’t feeling impatient, which was far too often.

One finger, then another, gently pressing inside, pressing against the muscle as he licked Phillip’s mouth, sucked on his tongue, rut into his hand. He growled low and pleased in his throat at his Mate’s body, at his heat, at his actions both submissive and demanding. Equals. his MATE. He nipped at his lip before sucking on it to soothe it, pressing the third finger in, crooking them and stroking.

Whimpering, Phillip pressed himself down onto Clinton’s fingers all the more, gasping into his Mate’s mouth at the pleasant burn and stretch. “C-Clinton…” He whimpered, nipping right back at the other’s lip and tongue. “Please?”

“Yes.” He got a bit more of the slick, rubbed it onto himself and pulled back, carefully pushing inside as he kissed him once more, swallowing the sounds his Mate made as he mounted him.

Phillip wrapped his legs securely around Clinton’s waist, holding him in close and gasping into his mouth. He brought his hands up, sinking one into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, while the other held his Mate’s arm tightly.

Clinton’s hands moved to Phillip’s hips, holding him securely as he started moving, slow at first, Phillip’s own erection trapped between their bodies, rubbed with Clinton’s every movement. “Love,” he murmured into Phillip’s mouth, drowning himself in him.

“Love... love you…” Phillip whimpered, rocking himself up into his Mate, hard cock rubbing against the soft hairs that led from Clinton’s navel to groin.

Clinton panted into his Mate’s throat, his grip on Phillip’s hips tight and secure as he pounded into him. His teeth grazed the edge of the scar marking their bond as he breathed hot against his skin.

Phillip let out a small howl of pleasure when Clinton began grazing over the scar and breathing across it. His muscles clenched around him tightly, bucking up all the more. The hand that was in Clinton’s hair tightened and clung tightly to him.

It wasn’t much longer before Clinton’s movements grew swift and hard, his fingertips pressed hard enough into Phillip’s skin to bruise. He began mouthing the small scar, his magic tingling between them, reaching to Phillip’s new magic, caressing, driving them both to the edge. Clinton held back best he could, arching his back to press his stomach harder against Phillip’s cock to bring him pleasure.

Gasping out, Phillip’s head rolled back against the pillow, his body arching up off the bed and into Clinton’s body. His breathing sharp and struggled, it didn’t take much more at all before he was crying out in blind pleasure, coming hard between their stomachs and clamping tight around Clinton’s cock.

That was what did it, like a long lost sense memory, Clinton came hard, spilling inside him once he’d clamped down. His hips jerked in short, desperate movements as he growled quietly against Phillip’s skin before pressing in deep and sure, hips flush together with no intent of pulling out of him as he panted against his throat. He licked and sucked at the skin there.

Having Clinton so deep within him, filling him so completely, was what Phillip imagined was as close to Heaven as it could possibly get. All the sensations and emotions he felt right that moment sending him off in his mind, even if just for a few moments. When he finally did start to come down from his blissful high, he kept his legs around Clinton’s hips, but rolled his head just enough to the side to give better access to his throat. “Clinton... love you…” He whimpered, petting through Clinton’s hair gently. “...soon... soon, Clinton... ours…”

Clinton’s teeth grazed the scar again before he bit gently over his throat. Claiming softly. Gently. Love. “Breed you,” he promised, holding him tight and close, still, as he emptied the last of his seed within. “Ours.” His lips moved from his throat to his lips, kissing him soft, gentle, simple, the taste of salt on his lips.

Phillip keened softly, his body slowly starting to relax under Clinton, growing heavy against the soft of the mattress. Kissing in return, he stroked his fingers through his hair, over his neck and around to rest on his cheek, thumbing under his eye. “Talk with Bruce tomorrow... so we can start…”

“Yes,” Clinton agreed, hitching his thighs up under Phillip’s rear, half folding him up as he held him, curled him up and staying close and in for as long as possible.

Time only lasted so much when in human form, however - and Clinton slipped out before leaning over to lick Phillip clean, turn him on his side, and curl around him, pulling the blanket over them. “Sleep,” he said softly.

Nestled into the blanket and his Mate, Phillip yawned as he nodded, thoroughly spent and exhausted. His new magic gently pulsed between them. “Love you…”

“Love,” Clinton agreed as he drifted off.


	19. Chapter 19

* * *

**When the morning arrived** , it came with a quiet whine and scritching sound outside Clinton and Phillip’s door. Following closely, was Anthony's gentle voice, softly chiding his little one for having escaped on her own to track down her new favorite playmate.

Phillip, who was already awake but refusing to leave the warmth and comfort of his Mate’s hold on him, simply smiled and turned to press his face into the pillows. One day soon, hopefully, they would have a Pup of their own to go wandering after while they explore the Keep.

He opened his eyes as he turned his head back so the morning light shone upon his face, and glanced down to his flat stomach. It was going to be so odd and strange to watch it slowly expand as their little one grew, but it was going to be very, very worth it. He would carry their Pup. Clinton was already the protector of the couple, Phillip much more willing to just roll over and surrender or hide if need be. Yes, it would be better for him to whelp than for Clinton to.

Smiling, he slipped his hand free from his Mate’s, only to rest it on his stomach, thumbing the muscles underneath the skin there, quietly already willing things to happen.

Clinton shifted as he woke, resting his head on Phillip’s stomach and howl-growling at the Pup that he would play later. Is sleeptime now.

Phillip chuckled, stroking his fingers through Clinton’s fur slowly. Thinking for a moment, he finally shifted himself to Wolf form, curling up around his Mate while leaving Clinton’s head where it rested still on his stomach.

Clinton snuffled against his soft belly, tail thumping once as he closed his eyes. _Mate. Mine. Good._

Staying snuggled into Clinton, Phillip allowed himself to drift back off to sleep peacefully. It was still early after all. He could get a bit more sleep before they would need to wake and go speak with Bruce.

* * *

**Clinton woke again** a little while later, crawling up to lie fully beside Phillip. He licked at his muzzle and nosed at his head with a sleepy whuff.

Phillip whined pathetically and rolled over, paws in the air and eyes still closed for a little while longer. When he finally did open his eyes, he blinked at Clinton and huffed back at him softly.

Clinton nosed at his belly, whuffing again quietly before licking at his face and nipping his ear, jumping off the bed and yipping at him to come.

Getting up to stretch, Phillip groaned but slid semi-gracefully down off the bed to follow Clinton - still partially asleep, and not able to ask where they were going, but following anyway.

Clinton kept at his side, half herding him as they made their way through to where food was. Food was important, after all.

In the dining hall, a happy yip rang out when Clinton and Phillip slunk in. A blur of dark silver fur pouncing over to them, yipping and nipping at Clinton to get him to play. Phillip huffed softly, nudged at Clinton’s side and made his way to the table for breakfast.

Clinton whuffed and nosed the Pup back, bouncing back and forth with him before sneezing and panting as he wagged his tail, letting the Pup nip all over him as he went over to get some food of his own.

Coming to the rescue, Anthony once more stooped down to pick his little girl up. “C’mon now, sweetie. Let them eat. You need to finish your breakfast.” He scritched down her head and behind her ears as he carried her back to the bowl set on the table next to his place. Looking back to Clinton and Phillip, he gave a small smile. “Bruce should be up shortly. I will let you know when he is so that you three can discuss things.”

There was no disguising his happy yip as Clinton settled down to the hunk of leg on the floor, tearing into it happily.

Phillip slunk up next to Clinton, sniffing at the leg on the floor and scooting back to sneeze, shake his head and sit back on his rear. He regarded it for a moment longer before slowly making his way towards the table instead.

Anthony laughed as he set a bowl of warm oats and milk down in front of him. “You just need to get used to it. Start small. Have your meats cooked less and less. You’ll get there eventually.”

Clinton growled a little as he tore into it, basically laying on the floor, tail thumping against the stone as he tore off piece after piece, happily gnawing down his breakfast. After this it was unlikely he’d eat again until the evening meal, if then.

Phillip gobbled down his own breakfast, glancing back at Clinton every so often until his bowl was clean. Once clean, he moved to lay back down beside his Mate, waiting for him to finish.

Clinton happily took his time, stripping it down to bone and gnawing on the bone a bit before he realised Phillip was waiting. He stood up, yipping, nosing the bone over toward him to try.

Eyeing it for a moment, Phillip finally wiggled himself closer and sniffed it a couple of times before taking a few cautious nibbles at it. Licking at his mouth, he looked back to Clinton, tail thumping softly before gnawing on it a little bit more, leaving plenty of room in case his Mate wanted to chew on it as well.

Clinton panted happily, tongue lolling before he scooted in to gnaw at the bone with his Mate. Good. Very good. Perfect.

A short time later, Bruce made his way into the dining hall. He still looked half asleep, but at least smiled when he saw Clinton and Phillip, and smiled even more so when he found Anthony, and their Pup Maria, sitting at the table eating. “Morning….”

Phillip glanced up and thumped his tail a little harder in greeting.

“Give me a few to eat something, and then we can go talk. Alright?”

Clinton, whose ears had perked at Bruce’s arrival, had his ears and tail down and flopped on the floor with a desolate whine. Drama queen.

Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed. “You had your breakfast, Clinton. Fair is fair. I’m hungry, too.”

Clinton whuffed and wagged his tail once, then closed his eyes with a massive sigh. He could be manage that long. He had a chance for something he thought he’d never have again. It was worth the wait.

Even if he felt a bit of urgency about it all.

Phillip nosed against Clinton’s side, pressing into him and nudging the bone over towards him again. It wouldn’t take Bruce long to eat, then they could talk, and figure out what things needed to be done. And, after that, Clinton could start in on their Den.

Clinton licked his mate’s muzzle and set to chewing on the bone halfheartedly. Okay, so he was still impatient. He wanted to start NOW. He wanted to KNOW if they COULD. If it took Phillip’s great (double-great?) aunt Titania and Frigga’s help.

He wouldn’t risk Phillip if it did. If it did, he would take the potion himself.

From his place at the table, Bruce watched Phillip and Clinton in mild amusement. Mostly Clinton. The Pup sure did know how to pout. Beside him, Anthony sighed and shook his head. “Will you stop torturing the poor Pup? Finish eating and go talk with them. I’ll watch Ria. Just go put him out of his misery.”

Huffing a laugh, Bruce nodded, finished his breakfast, and stood. He kissed Anthony's head gently, nuzzled his daughter’s neck, and finally looked to the pair on the floor. “Alright, let’s go talk.”

Clinton jumped up, wagging his tail and barking, it was about TIME, and ran over to nip at Bruce’s heels like the overexcited Pup he barely still was.

Phillip was right behind, nudging at Clinton and just trotting along with them as Bruce made his way into the hall and off to the study.

Shutting the door behind them, Bruce took a deep breath. “Alright, it will be easier if you both shift back. In case you have questions.”

Clinton shifted immediately, before Bruce had finished speaking. “Did you need help, or did it work? How does it work, how are you okay? Did they have to cut your Pup out, or were you able to birth her-” What he didn’t ask was how safe was it.

Phillip shifted just a moment later, looking on just as curiously, his hand reaching out to clutch Clinton’s gently.

Bruce sat on one of the chairs, motioning for the pair to do the same. “It worked. I’m still not totally clear on how, but... what I created was able to bend the laws of creation. As they told me while I was there, I have discovered a way to remain male, though act as a bearer. The same way a female does. From what I can tell, and what they told me, this is permanent. Not only that, but it bent creation in such a way that Heats will happen.” He paused for a moment, thinking over the different things he and Anthony had talked about. “I basically have created a new subgender of male.. Omegas?”

Clinton stared. He mentally translated Omega from the status as the least in a wolf pack, to one who could be breeded. “You will have more Pups.”

“Yes. We will most likely have more Pups.”

“You can bear them?”

Bruce nodded again. “I can. Yes.” He glanced to Phillip, then back to Clinton. “I will not lie and say it was easy, especially not the birthing, but it is not impossible. It’s also not at all comfortable, different than a female, though the end result is worth every moment of it.”

“Did they have to cut her out of you?” Clinton demanded to know once again.

“No,” He shook his head, shifting a bit in his chair just at the thought of it. “She was birthed just as she would have been if she’d been carried by Pepper.”

Clinton’s grin was as bright as midday sunlight. This was possible. This could _happen_. He looked to Phillip to see how he was reacting to this, unable to disguise his hopeful glee.

Phillip’s eyes were wide but bright, just a small hint of fear there -- though it was mostly fear that it wouldn’t work, or something would happen. He looked to meet Clinton’s gaze and nodded. He would do this. He wanted to do this for Clinton. For both of them.

Clinton reached for him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight, his entire body trembling nearly as much as Phillip’s. “I can carry,” he told him. “If that is what you want, I can carry. Anthony can protect us.”

Bruce straightened a bit, clearing his throat softly. “I am not sure how it would work for you if you were to carry. Pepper was meant to take it, to see if it would even work on a natural born Wolf. She hasn’t yet. We do know that it was enhanced by the recent change... or recent enough change. The body still getting use to shifting and such, it provided an environment capable of _this_ change taking place.” He pressed his lips together and shrugged. “If you want to try--”

Phillip shook his head, hugging Clinton tighter. “I will do it. I want to do this.” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Anthony to protect them if Clinton were to do it, he just preferred having his Mate’s protection over anyone else's.

Clinton nodded, pushing his nose and mouth against Phillip’s throat, seeking comfort and claiming dominance in one simple action. He held tighter onto him a moment before pulling back, nipping at the soft vulnerable part of Phillip’s throat as he did so.

He looked to Bruce. “When can he take the potion.”

Bruce braced his hands on his knees, ready to push himself up off the chair. “We can get started right now, if you’d like. I will caution you though, you will feel sick for a few days. Feverish, sluggish. That is just your body doing what it must to create the new organs. I will keep a close watch on you. You have my word.”

Wetting his lips, Phillip nodded. “I understand. I still want to do this.”

“Good. Then I shall meet you in your chambers just as soon as I fetch the bottle from Anthony's lab.”

Clinton nodded his thanks to Bruce, keeping Phillip close and kissing him fully, heady with joy at what was going to happen, what they would do. Of having their own Pups.

Phillip laughed into Clinton’s kiss, hugging back tightly and wiggling with joy. Taking him by the hand, he rushed them back to their room to wait for Bruce’s return.

Once there, Clinton took his time kissing his mate, touching him. Not to bring him completion, but because he loved him, wanted him to know he was loved just as he was and... wordlessly... tried to reassure Phillip that if he changed his mind, it would not change his devotion to his Mate.

Phillip kissed back, holding Clinton close and pulling back only to nuzzle and kiss at his Mate’s neck gently. “I hope this works. We’ll have our own little ones, Clinton,” He murmured excitedly into Clinton’s neck. “Our very own.”

The half squeal was entirely inhuman as Clinton picked Phillip up and twirled him around. Who knew a few months ago, when he was following his Pull, he’d find a proper Mate, look at being a stud again, and his Mate whelping, and their own little pack being a part of a larger one? It was wonderful.

Quiet laughter filled the air as Phillip held tight and pressed another kiss to his Mate’s lips. Pulling back with a pop, he set his feet back on the ground and tucked himself under Clinton’s chin. “I love you. So much…” he murmured, nuzzling into his neck.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a knock sounded at the door, Bruce’s head peeking around the corner. “Are you ready?”

Clinton looked to his elder and nodded. “We are,” he said, arms still wrapped around Phillip. It took another few moments before he pulled away, linking their hands, ever tactile. “We are.”

Bruce stepped into the room, smiling softly, a glass of water in one hand, a small capsule in the other. “Good. I managed to get it into a capsule, The potion will be easier to take this way,” He didn’t say that with any luck it’d be easier to keep down as well.

Phillip reached out to take the pill and water from the other man, giving a small nod of thanks. He didn’t bother dwelling over the thought, or second guessing. Instead he quickly popped the -- not exactly small -- capsule into his mouth, downing it with half the glass of water.

Clinton held his breath, watching Phillip, hand now resting on the small of his Mate’s back. As Phillip drank down, he looked at Bruce. “Will he be able to shift?” he asked. He knew that feeling awful always felt better on four feet and covered in fur - but maybe that was different for those who were Men first?

“That I’m not sure about.” Bruce admitted with a shrug. “I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean he can’t.” Thinking for a moment, he finally shook his head. “Just to be on the safe side, I would suggest not. I don’t want to risk a shift causing any kind of upset.”

Phillip nodded, finishing off the rest of the water and making a face as he burped. “No offense, Bruce... but this potion of yours is rather disgusting.”

Clinton giggled nervously, moving behind Phillip and burying his face between his shoulderblades as he wrapped his arms around him.

Leaning back into Clinton, Phillip rested his hands over his Mate’s. “So... h-how long before we know if it works or not?”

“It won’t be instantly. But by the end of the day you may start feeling tired, sluggish. If that starts to happen, I suggest just curling up in bed and staying there.” Bruce glanced to Clinton. “I will check in on him from time to time if you would like to get started on a Den? Anthony said you’d probably be making one soon.”

“Can you call Mother or Anthony or Pepper to sit with him, and I will start immediately,” Clinton asked.

Bruce nodded. “I will have his mother come in to sit with him.” Reaching out, he grasped Phillip’s shoulder gently. “You’re more than welcome to carry about your day. As I said, it will most likely take most of the day before you start feeling the effects.”

“Thank you, Bruce. For everything.”

“You’re both welcome. I will check in with you again at midday.” With another nod, the man turned and slipped from the room again, off to find his own Mate and Pup.

Clinton folded his arms tight around Phillip again, tugging him close and bringing him over to the bed, curling around him as best he could in his man-shaped body.

Phillip snuggled himself back into Clinton, body nearly vibrating with excitement. This was going to work. It would. It would work and everything would be fine. “Are you as anxious and excited as I?” He questioned quietly, lacing their fingers together over his stomach.

“Probably more,” Clinton told him, hand rubbing on his stomach. “What is your favorite scent.”

“You mean besides you?” Phillip nuzzled back against Clinton gently. “I like the smell of the early mornings. When the dew is still wet on the grass and most of the rest of the world is still asleep.”

Clinton smiled, breathing deep and slow. He knew which part of the keep he would look in for their Den. “Do you like to be high, or low?” he asked. He liked being high, which was unusual for a Wolf, but being high also meant being able to see far. Even in his Wolf’s Skin he could climb pines high enough to see for miles. It was a peculiarity to his first pack, one he took to greater lengths in his insatiable curiosity.

Sighing contently, Phillip nestled into the pillows and mattress. “Higher up. I enjoyed my attic bedroom.”

“Mine. My Mate.” Clinton murmured, rubbing Phillip’s stomach and kissing his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Mm... I love you,” He murmured back, letting himself get comfortable and relaxed into his Mate’s arms. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Yes,” he promised, petting him and nuzzling his jawline, pressing kisses to his skin.

Stifling a yawn, Phillip pressed his face into the pillow, breathing in Clinton’s scent and allowing himself to drift off in a content, peaceful mid-morning nap. Resting himself so that the capsule could start to do what it needed to do.

Clinton stayed wrapped around him until Jocelyn arrived, then covered Phillip with his furs and blankets before shifting and going to the highest floors in the east tower to search out the right rooms for their Den

He hadn’t fully explored the Keep yet, and found his way to one of the parapets without too much difficulty. He sniffed out corners, sniffed out where the best scents came from, where the best light was available, the clearest wet air. He finally found it well past lunch hour, an access to the open roof coming from the rooms, two smaller ones opening into a large one with stairs upward. So many windows, all narrow and safe, letting in the light.

He marked the edge of the door to the rooms as his, then raced to gather what he would need to make them RIGHT for his Mate.

It was nearing lunch hour when Phillip thought he felt the first twinge of something happening. Something feeling not quite right, but not terrifyingly wrong either. He ate his lunch, sat and read with his mother, told her of what he and Clinton had decided to do. Bruce came in to check on him, nodding when he was told of what Phillip thought he’d felt. It was apparently what had happened to him as well.  He reassured him that feeling it this soon, rather than at night, was likely a side effect of his being much closer to his change than Bruce himself had been.

By mid afternoon, the pain and fever slowly started to creep in. He whined and squirmed; desperate to get comfortable, but not able to. Jocelyn did what she could to soothe him, keeping a cool wet cloth to his forehead. By the time the sun was setting, Phillip was panting and whimpering in his sleep, the fever having settled in as his body worked for, and against, the answer Bruce had created.

Clinton appeared then, bearing a soft bear’s pelt and wrapping Phillip in it with no words, lifting him into his arms and nodding to Mother to follow.

Phillip calmed some when Clinton had him in his arms and was carrying him off, out of their room, Jocelyn following behind.

He led them up to the parapet he’d found, growling wordlessly at Jarvis who accidentally came across their path. Everything about him was tense and protective, instincts so strong that the only Mannish thing about him right now was his shape.

Jocelyn followed closely, gently squeezing Jarvis’ arm in apology as she passed by.

A chill ran through Phillip, causing him to shiver and whimper, pressing his face into Clinton’s neck gently.

Her hand coming up to touch Clinton’s shoulder, Jocelyn smiled reassuringly. “He’ll be fine, Clinton.”

Clinton watched her a moment, eyes wide and worried and guileless, then kept walking, leading her up the steps to the door and pressing his way inside. He nodded to the west of the two rooms for her then carried Phillip to the one in the east, leaving it open, because Mother was a part of his little family in the Pack. A his mate’s mother, she was Mother. As female, she was not only needed, but wanted when one felt unwell. Clinton needed her to be there if he had to leave Phillip.

He couldn’t think in terms of protect. Of safety. This was the Den. It was his job to keep his Den safe. His Mate was hurting. He could not help, his magic could barely brush the edges of Phillip’s, a barrier keeping him from HELPING.

He’d not felt so helpless in a long, long while. Not since before he was re-made.

Jocelyn gave Clinton and Phillip some space, moving to the room designated as hers while Clinton carried her son off to their private room. It was a very nice Den that he’d made for Phillip. For all of them. Plenty of space and comfortable pillows and padding. It wasn’t going to be all that hard to get settled in.

 **Across the way** , Phillip whined softly against Clinton, his fingers clutching at the man. His dark hair was damp, and plastered to his forehead; skin pale, and clammy to the touch.

Clinton lay him down amongst the furs and cushions, unwrapping the bearskin from around him enough to curl around him as well, hand brushing aside his hair, stroking along his body, resting over his stomach. He whimpered along with him, helpless to help, his magic again and again running up against that barrier that the change erected between them while it did its own magic. He placed small kisses on Phillip’s head, his cheek, cuddled him close and rocked.

Phillip snuggled himself as close to Clinton as he possibly could. Everything hurt, especially in his gut, as organs already in place were slowly and carefully moved just enough to make room for the new ones. A new sex taking form and shape. It happened slowly, but it was _happening._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Idk if this needs a warning, but they ARE Wolves sometimes, and there is sex in this chapter... Also a hella lotta magic, kind of the ... new species altogether kind :3 ~R))

*** * ***

**It would take two more days** for Phillip’s fever to break. And another half day before he was finally waking up for more than a couple of minutes.

Clinton only left his side long enough to fetch water to help keep his fever down. He remained wordlessly vigilant, only sleeping in fits and starts. Anyone other than Mother was growled at if they came within two meters of him and his mate. Not a challenging growl. A warning, worried growl. An _if you hurt my mate I will tear you apart_ growl, and an  _I’m scared, what is happening, I can’t help him_ growl. Much like any creature backed into a corner.

When Phillip did finally wake, and stay awake, he opened his eyes with a quiet whimper, weakly grasping at Clinton as best he could. The fever was mostly gone, the pain subsided enough to no longer be overly noticeable. He took a breath, and nosed at him gently. “Clinton…”

Clinton gathered him close, nosing back, running his hand down his back and kissing his skin softly. His breath trembled as he ran his hands over his mate, testing his magic once more to see if it would break through and give them contact again.

Phillip shivered, his own magic gently brushing back. He sighed in relief, his arms wrapping around Clinton, pressing himself in close. Whining quietly, he pressed kisses to Clinton’s chest, shoulder and neck. It felt so nice to no longer be hurting or feel like he was burning up. “’m okay…?”

The answer was Clinton’s magic surging to meet him, wrapping around him and soaking into him, stealing away the aches, healing in the secret places, as Clinton kissed him slow and deep, filled with wordless affection and relief.

Kissing back, Phillip’s own magic wrapped and mingled around Clinton’s, pulsing softly. The pains and discomfort faded, leaving him feeling mostly whole again. His hands slowly made their way to card through Clinton’s hair, petting down him tenderly. He was okay. He would be okay. Of course, knowing that he’d be alright brought to mind a different question... when and how would they know if he was with Pup?

Clinton rolled them so that Phillip was beneath him, nosing at his skin, relearning his scent. It’d changed and he made confused sounds as he sought out what those changes might be. He found him, though, beneath the shift, and bit down gently on the scar on his neck with a low, possessive growl.

Every last nerve ending was standing straight up, no matter where Clinton touched him, Phillip was whimpering and sighing with pleasure. It was at the bite though, gentle as it may have been, reclaiming him over the place he’d bitten before, that a whole new sensation went through Phillip. A rush of want and need that sent flutters through his body, straight to his cock and-

He yelped, jumping slightly with wide eyes as he squirmed. Something was slick and wet where there shouldn’t be any slick or wetness. Confusion and uncertainty crossed his face as he scooted enough to find a tiny wet spot against the fabric of the pillows he’d been laying on. “C-Clinton…?”

Clinton grinned at him. “Phillip...” he reached down between his Mate’s legs and just petted his fingers across his quivering hole. Phillip’s name was the first word he’d spoken since Phillip had taken the pill.

Swallowing hard, Phillip shivered and groaned softly at the touch. It felt a hundred times better than it had in the past. So incredibly good. His head fell back against the pillows while his Mate played and petted. He didn’t understand what was happening, no one had explained this part to him, the change that would occur along with the growth of new organs. Whimpering, he bit his lip, eyes closed.

“Good?” Clinton asked.

Phillip shivered again, whimpering softly as he nodded. “Y-Yes... just... strange.” It was a quiet, hesitant admission. It did feel good, but WHY!? How was any of this possible?!

“Good Strange?” Clinton asked, still playing with him, coating his fingers in slick and nosing at his Mate, scenting the changes, chest rumbling with possessive growl and absolutely no care that their door was somewhat ajar. 

Phillip nodded again, head pressed to the pillows as warmth coiled up inside him. “Y-Yes…”

Clinton nosed down his body, down behind his cock and balls - and licked across the thin closed seam to his hole, getting a sense of the slick there. Ohhhh. This was something new. Something good. “I want to mount you.”

A quiet, needy whine escaped him, head nodding eagerly. It was obvious whatever was going on wasn’t anything bad -- if it were, or if it were something that Clinton didn’t know about, he was sure his Mate would have stopped immediately. Plus, there was the whole matter of being very aroused by everything Clinton was doing to him. Phillip obviously was not going to turn him away. “Yes... please?”

Clinton growled a little and started lapping at his hole, the scent driving him half crazy for him. His cock was heavy between his legs as he did so, and he half crawled up Phillip’s body to nip and kiss at his skin wherever he could. He turned him over, tugging him back on his knees and carefully pushed into him.

Gasping out, Phillip gripped the pillows tightly, panting already as he felt his Mate slide in easily after very little preparation. He took a deep breath, looking back over his shoulder, eyes hooded and already dark and hazy with want.

Clinton leaned forward and nipped at his skin, biting down gently as he pulled out and thrust in, coating himself and making the way easier for him to start moving harder, faster, hands almost bruising on his Mate’s hips, a low whining growl in his throat. “Mine.”

Phillip rolled his head one direction, then the other, giving Clinton plenty of space to do as he pleased, wherever he pleased. Unlike before, there was no real awkward burn when Clinton pushed and pulled in such a way. Instead it felt a hundred times better. Still full, but not nearly as stretched. Gasping and panting, his arms folded under him, lowering his upper body until his forehead was pressed to the pillows.

Clinton surged into him, rough and fast, as quick and hard as he could, driving himself, driving Phillip, relentlessly to the edge. All he wanted in that moment was to spill into him as he would in his other form, but that was not what Man’s shape was capable of. He wanted to stay in and come and come and come, and even though he could not, he would stay deep inside for as long as his body would allow him. Phillip’s scent was almost maddening in how much he needed him.

Gasping and groaning out loud, Phillip rocked himself back onto Clinton’s thrusts, seemingly just as desperate as his Mate was becoming. Though his base form was that of Man, there was still that new Wolf sense that was itching at the back of his mind, calling out to him. Begging him to get more, not let go, keep Clinton deep for as long as possible. He sobbed out, struggling for a breath as he felt his own orgasm start to rise up.

Clinton leaned over him, chest pressed against his back as his hips worked almost too fast, in in in in, barely drawing out. He bit at Phillip’s skin again, almost to hold him there, arms wrapped fully around him, the furs beneath them rubbing against his Mate’s own cock. He panted, hot against his skin.

Phillip stayed still when Clinton bit at him again, the new Wolf side of him telling him what such a clamp meant and what he needed to do. The only movement he made was the rocking motion brought on from his Mate thrusting into him again and again and again. Below him, the furs were creating enough friction against the sensitive underside of his cock that his eyes simply could not stay open. It was incredible. Everything was incredible. And too much. So, so, so much.

Clinton growled, coming hard inside him, pressing in in in, tight as he could, pulling Phillip as tight as he could against himself so there would not be any seed lost between them. Nothing but _nothing_ in him wanted to let him go as he panted against the back of his neck.

Breathing heavily, Phillip let himself be held tight and flush against Clinton’s chest. His legs weak, he whimpered softly though, leaning his head back. “Can... can we l-lay down? Please?”

Clinton nodded against his skin and carefully lay them down on their sides, staying flush up against him, still holding him close. He nosed Phillip’s neck and breathed him in.

Phillip gasped and groaned softly as he was moved and settled on his side, so carefully placed and avoiding the splatter of his now-clear come. Taking a deep breath, he felt his body keeping a tight hold on Clinton, desperate to keep him there and keep anything from escaping.

Clinton’s panting settled down as he kept pressed inside, whining at how Phillip had clamped down on him, wishing he could knot him. Magic tingled between them as he breathed him in, kissing and licking, mouthing at his Mate’s skin as his release ebbed and he started thrusting shallow once more, needing to keep going, there was more to do, more to give, to take.

The idea of moving anymore did not appeal to Phillip in the slightest bit.  However, having Clinton behind him -- starting to rock into him again -- did draw out the strangest and most wonderful needy gasps, sighs, and groans. A warmth settled low in his gut, his skin itching just below the surface and his body seemed all too open and accepting of Clinton taking him again... and again... and again.

A thought moved through his mind that all at once terrified and aroused him. He _wanted_ Clinton to mount him again. Repeatedly. Until they were both so sore and exhausted that even blinking was a test of willpower and strength.

Clinton made a questioning noise, somewhere between a whine and a growl, grinding into him as he grew harder, never having left Phillip’s tight body.

Gasping out, Phillip tightened around Clinton all the more, his hand lacing with his Mate’s to squeeze reassuringly. He wasn’t so sure he could speak right then. At least, not actual words.

Clinton kept his arms around him, moving into him slowly at first as he hardened, growling softly as he kissed and licked, sucked at his skin. Words were not only something he couldn’t put the energy behind, they were far beyond his mind. All that existed was him, and Phillip. Their bodies joined.

From the other room, Jocelyn lifted her head from her reading, glanced off towards Phillip and Clinton’s room, and slowly, quietly, stood. She slipped from the Den without a word, closing the door behind her to give them proper privacy. Not that it really mattered all that much, but still.

Back inside, Phillip pushed himself back against Clinton as much as he could, his whimpers and gentle cries growing all the more. He felt warm all over, his magic tingling and sparking just under his skin, a funny haze filling his mind as he focused on just keeping Clinton inside him, and being taken good and hard.

 

* * *

**The two did not emerge** that day. Nor did they do so the next. A litany of soft growling and quiet keening scuttled through the gaps beneath the door to their Den.

Bread and hunks of meat were left just inside their Den, along with water, to help them keep their strength up. Anthony had glanced at Bruce when Jocelyn took the food from them to deliver it to her son and Clinton herself, and quirked a brow. “Heat? So soon?”

Bruce shrugged in return, but could not help a small smile. “It would seem so.”

Looking back off towards in the direction Jocelyn went in, Anthony stood quiet for a moment before chuckling, smirking. “How long before you think they both shift?”

“If it hasn’t happened yet? Then I’d say probably any time now.”

A howl rang throughout the keep, followed by another.

Pepper hid her laughter behind her hand.

Eyebrows shooting straight to the hairline, Anthony fought to keep from laughing, though he failed hopelessly. Bruce simply shook his head and sighed at them both. “Like neither of you have ever shifted in mid-mount? Anthony, _you_ did before--”

“Yes, no, you’re right. We shouldn’t laugh. Is Ria crying? I think I hear Ria crying. I should go check on her.” Turning quickly, Anthony scurried off down the hall, avoiding the rest of that completely embarrassing story.

Pepper kept giggling for a few moments longer. “Bruce. How long do you suppose the Heat will last?”

Bruce thought for a moment before he shrugged. “First time mine hit, it lasted four days. Though I’ve heard they could last up to seven for our wolf cousins. It really all depends, apparently.” Lifting a brow, he folded his arms loosely over his chest. “You know... you could find out for yourself how long a Heat will last... if you would just take the serum. We now have two, well... three technically, I suppose, pieces of proof that it works.”

“Not on a born Wolf, Bruce.”

“No... you’re right…” he shrugged. “But you won’t know if it will work or not unless you try it.”

“There is no good prospect for a stud - therefore there is no reason for me to risk it. Someone needs to keep you all in one piece while you’re busy with mounting and whelping,” she said, a smile taking the sting out of her words.

Chuckling, Bruce squeezed her shoulder gently as he shook his head. “If you change your mind down the road... let me know.”

“I will.”

Nodding, he gave her shoulder one last squeeze before wandering off to find his Mate and Pup.

 

* * *

**Upstairs, Clinton and Phillip were still rutting,** desperate to come together, to come, and to come again. Clinton had yet to leave his body, keeping him close as they dozed between romps, even inside him as he was flaccid until he reached hardness once more. His skin itched, his magic calling to Phillip’s and wrapping around them, making them as one as their activities did.

Phillip’s magic continued to pop and spark just under his skin, reaching out for Clinton’s and nearly sizzling when they combined and wrapped around each other. He gasped and whimpered, his eyes closed, as he thrust himself back onto Clinton. Without a thought, he clamped around his Mate again, his whines and whimpers coming out more and more now, higher pitched and distinctly not Man.

Clinton howled, forelegs wrapped down over slim hips, muzzle biting at Phillip’s scruff. In in in, finally feeling his knot again, feeling it swell, keep him tight inside his mate and coming coming coming.

He lapped at Phillip’s head, at his ears, at the side of his face, his muzzle, hunkering down over him to keep him still, his own hind legs dancing in place a moment before he lay down atop him to rest, tail thumping once.

Laying back down again, Phillip’s mind was a race of panic and embarrassment. He’d shifted! In the middle of sex. And Clinton... Clinton shifted as well? Panting, he glanced his eyes back towards his Mate, catching just the glimpse of fur. Yes, Clinton had shifted as well. And something new stretched him, filling him, causing him to whine out all the more.

Clinton licked at his ruff, at his ears, at his face, wagging his tail again. This was good. This was right, this was not to be feared.

Phillip lay still, panting heavily and still whimpering softly, though not in a bad way. He was tired, and ached in all the best possible ways. Though, it was a bit awkward having his tail trapped between his Mate and himself. He tried to wag it in reply anyway.

Clinton licked his face one more time, shifting slightly, turning in the tie so they could lie down, bottom to bottom, tails not cramped. He remained locked inside him and put his head on his paws, closing his eyes. Tie-Nap would be good.

With a content sigh, Phillip’s eyes fell shut. A feeling of yes, this _was_ right, settled through him, relaxing him, and making it possible for him to drift off to sleep slowly.

 **A while later** , Clinton slipped free, turned, and cuddled up against Phillip’s side. He went back to sleep, exhausted from all the time they’d spent together, but that thrum under his skin demanded he tie him again once they both had the energy.

It wasn’t a terribly long nap that Phillip was granted before his body decided to wake him again, demanding more from Clinton. He groaned low in his throat, moved enough to be able to stretch and move his muscles again before turning to nudge at Clinton’s neck and muzzle gently.

Clinton woke. snuffled at him and wagged his tail before moving behind him and nosing at his tail, nosing it to the side so it wouldn’t hurt as he got on his hind legs, forelegs wrapped around Phillip’s waist and hips as he thrust against him a few times before finding his way inside, pressing in slow and tight before his hips started snapping quickly.

The desperate and heady need to be mounted was slowly starting to ebb, Phillip could tell already that it really wouldn’t take all that long for him to get off again. Especially not with the pace Clinton was going against him. He whined as he felt Clinton’s forelegs press against his hips and paws brush over his own cock absently. The magic popping and sparking under his skin once more.

Magic crashed through them, over them, even as Clinton pressed in in in, his hind legs dancing briefly before he pressed in hard, his knot swelling inside his mate. He bit down on his mate’s scruff, not to hurt, but to connect as he held him still beneath him.

Magic that crashed over them both as they came together, their bodies shifting again, from one’s base form to the other’s, still locked together tight, skin against skin, arms now wrapped protectively around Man waist, knees pressed up behind knees, chest to back.

Phillip sobbed out loud, his voice strained and rough from lack of use, but it was definitely _HIS_ voice. Clinton’s arms around him, chest flush to his back, skin... beautiful, slick, warm skin. His arms gave out from under him, trembling under the strain, toppling him down to press his face into his pillows again, gasping and crying out softly.

Clinton kissed and licked at the bite marks he’d left on his Mate, still locked good and tight inside him, still _coming_. His breath hitched as he felt his knot, his knot! Finally, he felt what had been so wrong about this form to him, and he pet down Phillip’s sides. Like their first coupling, he shifted them to their sides, crooning wordlessly into Phillip’s skin as he gasped his breath, hand rubbing his Mate’s stomach as he trembled with the _Rightness_ he felt. Their magic twined tightly together, tightly around them, keeping them close and safe.

Perfect.

The stretch he felt, with Clinton inside him still, felt incredible. So insanely strange, but no less incredible. He leaned back into his Mate, sighing and groaning softly as the man rubbed at his stomach, a stomach that had just the slightest bit of a bulge to it, and the flutter that went through him, at the sight and feel, made him smile.

 

* * *

**The next morning** they went down to breakfast. Clinton was nude, and half hanging onto Phillip, nosing at his throat, as his shoulder, somehow managing not to impede his Mate as they walked. There was one obvious physical change to him, but it was not a change he acknowledged - as far as he cared, it meant his body was finally how it ought to have been, and thus was not worth remarking upon.

Walking wasn’t maybe the easiest thing to do, but Phillip managed, keeping close to his Mate and doing much better about being seen by the others while completely nude. His own body had taken its own bit of a physical change. The slight bulge of his lower stomach was mostly smoothed out again, while his own cock was now a bit smaller, more narrow and blunt.

Pepper was the first to notice as they walked in. While Phillip’s human penis seemed unchanged, it seemed... narrower somehow. Still within the realm of normal for a Man - but Clinton. Clinton’s was now narrower at the tip, and there was a swelling not far from the base, circling it as if he... That was a Wolf’s cock within the human sheathe. She looked at Anthony then Bruce in uncertain alarm, catching their eye and flicking her gaze at Clinton.

Anthony glanced over, blinking firstly at the fact it seemed Phillip was finally comfortable in his nakedness, then finally catching on to what Pepper had seen and was motioning to. His eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t think that was possible! At all!

Bruce also stared in surprise, head tilted curiously as he regarded the pair. That...was definitely something he’d never given thought of being possible before.

Clinton led Phillip to the table, got him food he knew his Mate preferred, before taking a plate of barely cooked rashers for himself. He kept his human form for now, needing to coddle his Mate.

Looking between Pepper and Bruce, Anthony silently debated on who should be the one to ask about this new change. _Should_ they ask about it? Neither Clinton nor Phillip seemed concerned about it, so maybe they should leave well enough alone, Still... he wanted to know!

Phillip smiled softly, fondly, at Clinton. Everything about him was relaxed, content, still borderline blissed out. He kept one hand on his stomach as he ate quietly, not meeting anyone’s eyes but Clinton’s.

Clinton kept an arm around him, rubbing Phillip’s stomach absently as he ate. There was an attentiveness to him, as well as an air of knowing he was safe. His Mate was safe.

The others allowed Clinton and Phillip to eat, keeping quiet until they were almost finished before finally speaking. And when they did, it was Bruce who spoke, not Anthony.

“How are you two feeling?”

“Less hungry,” Clinton replied with a small smile. He was nuzzling Phillip’s hair between bites, hand still absently stroking his Mate’s stomach. “Good. Right,” he added, glancing up at Anthony - his eyes clear, piercing. Like he knew something they didn’t for a change.

“No... strange side effects--”

“What my beautiful Mate is trying to not ask is, how come you have a knobby-knot outside of being a Wolf all of the sudden!?” Anthony was far less subtle in his questions.

“Because my magic finally remembered I am a Wolf. First and always. Why do you _not_ have a knot?” he sniped back goodnaturedly. Were he on four legs he’d be wagging his tail slowly and panting. “You are far closer to Human than I care to be. It’s a shape I take for safety’s sake. For Love and Mate. It is not my preferred form.” He stopped before saying more.

Anthony shrugged, “Fair enough…” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Doesn’t it hurt, though?”

“Not really…” Phillip answered quietly, glancing up only briefly before snuggling back into Clinton’s side easily.

Clinton nosed him briefly, breathing him in. “I said before. It’s Right.”

“Clinton?” Pepper asked softly. “What do you remember of your parents?”

He watched her for a long moment. “Mother was a true Wolf. Father was a half Wolf.”

Pepper looked to Anthony and Bruce. “Perhaps therein lies the answer.”

Clinton chose to ignore them and serve himself some more meat.

“A Wolf and a half Wolf…” Anthony glanced to Bruce, then Pepper before shrugging. That did strangely make maybe a little bit of sense... maybe. No. No, it did make sense, the longer he thought about it.

Phillip leaned into Clinton’s side just a bit more, his eyes closed but a soft smile on his lips.

“So, wait... was your father turned? Like Phillip and I? Or born a half Wolf?” The answer made sense to Bruce, but the details stuck him.

“His father was a wolf, and his mother was a Wolf.” He paused, but Phillip would learn this eventually. “Just as I am a Wolf, and my first mate was wolf.”

That all actually made more sense. Phillip, for what it was worth, didn't react much to hearing the news of there being a first mate. He'd seen the way Clinton had reacted to there being a Pup around, the way he played and whined when the little one was ushered off for bed. It was obvious he'd had experience with pups, so it only made sense that there'd been someone before him.

Bruce gave a small nod. "I see. Well, congratulations then, on making it through your first Rut-Heat together."

"Thank you," Clinton said, nosing Phillip's shoulder as he continued to rub his mate's stomach. He pressed his lips against the skin.

"Yes, I suppose congratulations are in order. With the way you two were going at it, Phillip's bound to be with Pup," Anthony gave a soft grunt as Bruce's elbow found its way to his stomach.

Smiling fondly, Bruce gave a nod. "In a couple of weeks, I will help you to know for sure if you are or not."

Clinton made a pleased sound and, making sure Phillip had eaten his fill, stood and held his hand to him.

Phillip wasn't overly hungry. To be honest, he was still feeling too full, otherwise, to be all that hungry. He took Clinton's hand and moved to stand along with him. He nodded to those present, and followed his Mate out into the hall, nuzzling at his neck gently. "What'd they mean? Rut-Heat?"

"It is a word for needing to come together. For a bitch to be mounted, for a stud to breed them. A drive to have Pups."

Giving a quiet hum at that, he nodded. "I wasn't sure what was going on... just that I knew I wanted you, didn't ever want you to stop, or pull out, or anything."

"Yes. Wonderful, isn't it?" he asked, slipping his arms around him and just holding him.

"Very much so." Phillip's answer was breathy, quiet as he nuzzled in again and let himself be led back to their room.

Once there, Clinton bundled his Mate amongst the furs in their personal Den, all but tucking him into place and nuzzling him. "Rest," he said.

Phillip sighed contently, nestling himself down into the warmth of the furs, and smiling up at his Mate with the gentle pleased and blissed out expression he'd had since waking up. "I will," he promised, reaching up to touch his fingers under Clinton's chin gently.

Clinton slipped his hand behind Phillip's neck, giving a light squeeze as he gave him a soft kiss. Then he shifted, laying his head on Phillip's stomach, so he could keep watch while they both rested.

 


	21. Chapter 21

*** * ***

**Over the following** couple of weeks, Phillip carried on with life as he usually would. Every so often he would shift to go for a run with Clinton, and other times he would just sit in his forge drawing up ideas for new projects or designs for armor. Even if he wasn't actually making anything for anyone, anymore.

It was early in the afternoon -- a good two or three weeks after the Rut-Heat -- that Phillip suddenly found himself standing behind the forge, emptying his stomach of its contents. That would be the first of many such times it would happen before he finally made mention of it to his Mate.

Curled up beside Clinton in their Den, he whimpered softly and nuzzled in. "I think... something is wrong. I feel ill."

Clinton winced, looking at him. "I will get Bruce." 

Phillip whimpered and nodded. He always hated being sick, and always tried so hard to avoid getting sick. All he wanted to do, right then, was stay curled up and sleep. And hopefully avoid emptying his stomach again.

"Stay." Clinton wrapped the furs around him and shifted, racing through the keep to find Bruce.

Bruce was on the front lawn with his daughter, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, and watching Maria run and jump and pounce on Anthony - who had also taken his Wolf form.

Clinton stopped fast enough to tumble up to Bruce, then righted himself, nipping at his side and whining, moving back toward the Keep, then back toward him, clearly wanting him to follow.

Having had enough experience with Wolves, Bruce didn't bother trying to ask what was wrong. He just nodded and moved to follow. "Right behind you."

Clinton stopped every few yards, looking back to see if Bruce was following. He whined and whimpered, leading him through to his den, first the larger outer-space that connected his and Phillip's to Mother's, then through to his own, climbing into the furs and nosing at his sick Mate with worried tail wagging whines.

Phillip opened his eyes, reaching out to sink his fingers into his Mate's fur before looking up to Bruce pathetically.

Bruce tilted his head as he knelt at Phillip's other side. "Is it alright for me to move the blankets?" He asked across to the Wolf.

Clinton wagged his tail, whining. Yes, he could. He was trusted.

The blankets and furs tugged back, Bruce reached his hands out to place gently on Phillip's stomach and sides. He reached out with his own magic, a faint green glow as he closed his eyes and muttered quietly under his breath.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and pulled his hands away. "Have you been feeling ill long?"

Phillip shook his head. "A couple of days..."

"What about when you shift?"

"I haven't shifted since I started feeling ill. I've been too tired to try."

A soft smile began working its way across Bruce's face. "Try now. Call on your magic, Clinton's will help because you two are bound. But I want you to shift and see if you still feel ill."

Phillip frowned but nodded. His eyes closed, he focused on shifting, changing, ignoring the discomfort of the action as he did so, until he was lying curled up as best he could beside Clinton.

Clinton looked between them, ears perked forward. He nosed at his Mate's muzzle.

It took a moment before Phillip opened his eyes, his tail thumping softly against the pillows as he looked from his Mate to their friend.

Smiling fondly, reached out to touch at Phillip's stomach again before looking back to Clinton. "Rest your head on his stomach. They'll both be fine."

Clinton yipped happily, nosing under Bruce's chin then licking at Phillip's muzzle before curling around him, resting his head right in the best spot.

 

* * *

**A week passed before Phillip** finally nudged his dozing Mate's side and pointed his nose in the direction of Mother's room. They hadn't told anyone yet that they were expecting, waiting instead for a little while longer to make sure things were well before they told the others.  After being in Wolf form for a week straight, Phillip was starting to feel things were settled enough to tell them.

After all, he wasn't sure how long it took for Wolves to be born, and if they were needing to go to the South as Bruce and Anthony had in order for the Pup to be born, Phillip wanted his mother, at the very least, to be there with him when it happened.

Clinton's ears perked forward and he licked Phillip's face before hopping off the bed with a small wag of his tail.

Slipping off the bed carefully, Phillip took a moment to gently stretch before tucking his head under Clinton's and starting for the door. Since he felt sick in his natural form, and it was safer for him and the Pup to be in Wolf form, he wasn't sure how exactly to go about telling her, but between himself and Clinton, they'd get the point across.

 **Jocelyn sat** in her portion of the den, sunlight pooling around her and a soft smile on her lips as she rested her head against the window. Not quite acknowledging the pair, but knowing when they slipped into the room.

Clinton took point, nudging Phillip toward Mother before moving ahead and lapping at her hand with a small whine and a tail wag.

Lifting her head, she turned her smile to the two Wolves. "Well, good afternoon, my good Sirs. Come to enjoy the warm sunshine?"

Clinton whuffed and nipped her clothes, tugging her toward Phillip.

Phillip's head ducked just a bit though his tail stayed raised as he took a few steps closer, wagging as his mother was pulled towards him.

"Alright, what are you boys up to?" She asked lightly, settling herself on the floor, hand outstretched for Phillip to come closer.

Clinton then nosed his Mate over toward Mother, nipping his shoulder gently before nosing at him to lie down.

Lying down beside her, his head in her lap and tail gently thumping against the stone floor, Phillip gave a tiny groan as he rolled enough onto his back to expose his stomach. He looked first up to her, then to Clinton, whining softly.

Clinton nosed Phillip's belly then looked at Mother, laying down beside Phillip and nosing again before looking at her intently, tail thumping the floor just once.

Jocelyn looked between them both for a moment before reach down, running her hand gently down her son's side, feeling the small distention. "Ohhh," The expression of realization turned soft and understanding. "I'm going to have to work on a small quilt?"

Clinton yipped happily, jumping up and chasing his tail a little, hind end half wagging itself off as he licked all over her face in agreement.

Laughing softly, Jocelyn tilted her head, running her hand over Clinton's and scritching his ears softly. "This is very good news, indeed!" She laughed, smiling brightly. "I am so very glad for you both!"

Clinton jumped around before nosing and licking all over Phillip's face as well. Yay Pup!!!

Phillip rolled carefully back onto his stomach, eyes shut but tail thumping while his Mate licked his face repeatedly.

"Perhaps you boys should go tell the others?" Jocelyn suggested, brushing her hand across Phillip's head gently. "I will see if Pepper or Bruce would like to go into the town with me to get what I will need to make the blanket."

Nosing at Phillip's head, Clinton made a questioning sound, ears perked forward as he watched his Mate.

Hoisting himself up onto all fours again, Phillip nosed under Clinton's chin, his blue-grey eyes smiling in answer. Yes, they could go tell the others now, too.

Yipping happily, Clinton hopped over Phillip and chased his tail briefly before heading for the door, tail wagging his rear off.

Phillip moved at a slightly slower pace. His movements almost shy as he followed Clinton in search of the others.

Clinton kept darting back and forth between Phillip and heading down the hall, all boundless energy and excitement. He howled for good measure, seeing if anyone was close by. Bruce already knew, of course, but the rest of the pack didn't. Not yet. At least as far as he knew.

There was a very, very young howl in response from down a hall, the direction of Anthony's workshop, followed by a laugh and definitely more human call of where to find them.

Clinton yip howled in return and wagged so hard he almost fell down the stairs as he ran back and forth between Phillip and where they were going.

Phillip huffed softly, giving Clinton's side a gentle headbutt in the direction of Anthony's workshop, tail wagging, and panting just a bit as he urged his Mate on ahead. He'd be along right behind.

Yipping, Clinton darted down, careening through the door and rolling to a stop, wagging his tail. He yipped and got up, looking back for Phillip.

In an instant, a rollie ball of fluff bounced into his side, whuffing and yipping at him happily.

Anthony glanced up from his work bench, just to make sure things were alright before smirking and looking back down to what he was working on. "Ria, you're suppose to be napping," He chided, knowing full well his Pup didn't fully understand human spoken word yet.

Clinton nosed her and chased back and forth with her, laying down so she could pounce all over him while his own tongue lolled with happy panting.

A moment later, Phillip's head peeked around the door, lowered just slight and a quiet little whine marking his arrival and request to come in.

Ria yipped happily, rolling tail over nose as she slid off Clinton's hind end and went stumble-running for Phillip.

Clinton jumped up and yipped happily to him before glancing at Anthony then going back to Phillip and nudging him toward their alpha.

Anthony set his things down and stepped away from the bench, wiping his hands on a cloth before stooping to pick his wriggly daughter up and hold her close. "Come in, Phillip. No need to be shy. I'm going to guess that you two visit in regards to the secret Bruce is keeping from me involving you two?"

Yipping Clinton bounded back and forth between the two.

Phillip stepped up closer, tail wagging slowly. He sat in front of Anthony, glancing back at Clinton before giving a small whuff of his own, tail thumping the floor three times.

Looking at his two newest packmates, Anthony lofted a brow before giving a faint sniff to the air and nodded, smiling. "You're with Pup. Good for you both! Now Ria will have someone to wear her out."

Clinton yipped and got on his hind legs, licking under Anthony's chin before sitting back down and nosing Phillip's face and rear again, getting up and streeeetching.

"I believe the others are outside, if you're making your rounds announcing the good news."

Phillip looked up to Anthony with a small huff of a response, standing and moving to follow Clinton again -- at his own, slower, pace.

Clinton kept bounding back and forth, barely able to contain himself. Running ahead seemed great, but so did licking all over Phillip's face.

Phillip would stop every now and then and simply let himself be licked across the snout by his excited Mate on the way outside to where Bruce and Pepper sat, both in human form, enjoying the sunshine and warm breeze.

Clinton yipped and excitedly skulked over to them.

Bruce glanced over from his place, smiling as he caught sight of the pair. Nudging Pepper's side, he nodded towards them. "Good afternoon, Clinton. Phillip." He smiled knowingly. "I didn't think I was suppose to check in on you until tomorrow. Everything alright?"

The Wolf yipped and nosed at Pepper's foot before looking back at Phillip with happy tongue lolling doggy panting.

Phillip made his way up to the both of them, nosing at Bruce's knee gently in hello before turning his attention to Pepper. Catching the changed scent faint on the breeze, Pepper smiled, reaching out to stroke across Phillip's ears first, then Clinton's. "I'm glad for you. Both of you."

Clinton's tongue lolled happily and he gently shoved Phillip into a sunbeam for a nap.

Not going to protest the movement at all, Phillip laid himself out in a spot of particularly sunny lawn, nosing at Clinton gently as he settled down for a nice, relaxing nap.

Clinton half curled around him protectively, resting his head on Phillip's back, and went to sleep.

 * * *

 **It'd been a few months** since they'd gotten everyone to know that Phillip was with Pup, and Clinton was never far from him. If he had to go on a hunt, he'd go find Mother to sit with him until he could return, always bringing him the best bits for growing a Pup. Never quite understanding Phillip's hesitence as the Man-Wolf ate the offerings.

Phillip had finally gotten mostly accustomed to being in wolf form all day every day. His discomfort seemed more bearable when he wasn't standing upright and two legged. Still, the idea of eating raw meat was something that was taking quite a bit of time getting used to. He would do it, because he knew he had to, their Pup needed him to. Their beautiful growing Pup that, as the weeks went on, Phillip could feel more and more.

Clinton lapped at Phillip's muzzle then his ears, then nuzzled in next to him, panting happily after another successful hunt, the best bits, heart, liver, a hunk of muscle, were presented to him one by one.

Nuzzing back gently, Phillip took his time soaking in his Mate's affection before he knew he should eat what had been offered to him. He stared at them for a moment before starting in on the muscle.

Clinton slipped around and nosed the heart toward him. He whined a little, ears perked forward.

Phillip whined just ever so slightly before he started in on the heart. It only took him about two bites before he had it scarfed down and started on the liver. Once finished, he shifted to lay on his side, eyes smiling up at Clinton fondly.

Clinton licked the blood off his mate's snout and lay down beside him, wagging his tail once in satisfaction.

Moving slowly, Phillip shifted to lay his head on Clinton's paws and nosed at his chest for nuzzles. He'd been starting to feel overly affectionate over the past few days. Wanting to cuddle and nuzzle against anyone who would let him, all the better if it was cuddling into Clinton.

Clinton shifted in closer and nuzzled back with a quiet whuff. He nosed Phillip's throat and shifted to nose at his soft belly.

 **As they lay there** , enjoying each other's company and the bright, warm sunshine, Bruce -- in human form -- stepped around the corner and smiled down at them softly. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" He asked quietly, not wanting to startle either of them.

Clinton flopped his tail in greeting and whuffed, resting his muzzle on Phillip's side instead, ears perked forward as he looked up at him.

Bruce moved to sit beside them, making sure he was in a place where neither Phillip nor Clinton would feel even remotely threatened. "I came to check on Phillip and the Pup. May I?"

Clinton whined a little before moving away enough to lick at Bruce's fingertips and sit watch.

Giving a nod of thanks, Bruce gave one gentle brush of his hand over Phillip's fur before settling both hands over his stomach. He didn't touch, just left them hovering a bit as he closed his eyes and began to murmur, a soft green glow encompassing them.

Phillip stayed still even as he felt warmth moving all across his stomach, and felt their Pup squirm just a bit. He whined softly to get Clinton's attention, wanting to nuzzle him and lick at his face to assure him things were okay.

Clint, however, growled and stood over Phil, lowering his head and watching Bruce with clear question of 'you better explain yourself'.

Bruce, for the most part, ignored the growling for a moment. When he finally moved his hands away from Phillip's stomach, he looked to Clinton with an even more fond smile. "It's alright, Clinton. I wasn't hurting him. I was just checking on your Pup. Phillip's over half-way along. It won't be long now, and you'll need to go to the South."

The change was immediate, Clinton yipping and licking his Alpha's Mate's nose before he cuddled down with Phillip and nuzzled him.

"Pup seems to be healthy and strong so far, just make sure Phillip continues to eat plenty of meat and milk. Shouldn't be much more than another week or so and we'll start making plans to help you two on your way."

Clinton whuffed and turned his attention fully upon his mate.

Phillip panted and whined softly, carefully pushing himself up to sitting so he could nudge at Bruce's shoulder with his head before curling back up against Clinton. Soon. Soon they'd have their Pup.

Clinton was downright _giddy_ at the thought of having a Pup again. And a Wolf Pup! That was even more exciting. He whined and yipped and nuzzled Phillip's nose, barely containing his joy.

Nuzzling back, Phillip pressed himself against Clinton as best as possible, his soft, slightly protruding tummy getting in the way a bit.

Bruce pushed himself back up to his feet, giving them privacy again, and went off in search of his own Mate and Pup.

 * * *

 **Time passed, and soon** it was time to cross over. Clinton flitted around Phillip as though it were his first time around siring - all but herding Phillip around the Keep, staying close, and filled with nervous energy as he nosed his Mate's shoulder while they waited for the chosen Time between Times. Phillip tolerated Clinton's anxiousness and generally nudged into his shoulder gently or rested his head across Clinton's neck.

Though, as the time drew closer and closer, Phillip's discomfort levels began to peak. He couldn't sit, laying down hurt, standing and walking wasn't all that great, and he really tried very hard not to start snapping and growling at _everyone_ in sight. His Mate, and his own mother, included.

One such time, only hours before the time to cross over, had Clinton laying on his back, tail tucked and showing his belly-fur whilst whining his apology.

Phillip whined pathetically. The sight of Clinton, laying on his back and whining as he was, made Phillip feel all the worse. Whimpering, he turned tail and bolted down the hallway as quickly as he could. He was scared, and didn't understand his own body at the moment. All Phillip wanted to do was hide.

Clinton quickly took to his feet, chasing after him. He was trying to apologise for annoying him, what'd he done wrong now?

Scurrying as fast as he could, Phillip made it back to their den and whimper-whined as he began burrowing himself into the pillows and blankets. Not once even noticing his mother start for the den after him.

Clinton almost ran into her, skidding and going tail over nose in a tumble to avoid knocking the woman down.

Jocelyn stepped to the side to avoid the run-in, and knelt beside Clinton when he'd come to a stop. "What is going on? Aren't you two supposed to be going soon?"

Clinton whined, ears back and tail down, looking up at her then to the door where he could smell his mate. He put his paw over his nose.

A soft sigh escaped her as she nodded and reached out to scritch at Clinton's ears. "I'm sure you did nothing wrong. We'll go in and try to coax him out. It's possible Phillip has more human emotions about this than the others realize."

Clinton sat back, tilting his head in confusion and perking his ears forward. All he knew was that Phillip's snapping at him (again, for the nth time) made him think of when he'd been sent away.

He didn't want Phillip to send him away. They were having a Pup (Pups?), it was time to be happy!

Smiling softly, Jocelyn stroked down Clinton's ears. "When it came time for me to have him, all I could do for hours and hours was cry. I was so cross at his father that I told him to leave and never return, probably near a dozen times. As humans, we react differently than those born as Wolves. It is very possible Phillip is scared and in pain and doesn't know what to do just yet."

Clinton whined and licked at her chin before skulking into the den, a wag of his tail telling her she was welcome.

She stood and moved to follow, gently calling out to her son, his tail still seen out from under the pillows.

Phillip whined and half growled, trying hard to shift further into his hiding place.

Clinton decided playing cheerful would work, so he yipped playfully and dragged one of the large pillows off.

As soon as the pillow was pulled off, Phillip spun, snarling and barking. Though contrite an instant later.

Beside Clint, Jocelyn held her hand out. "Phillip, you're going to be alright. You and Clinton need to leave soon, though. So you can go and have the help you need in having your Pup."

Clinton wagged his tail and nipped gently at Phillip's shoulder, licked his face.

Phillip panted and whimper-whined as he looked between his Mate and his mother.

"Shh... I know, sweetheart. I know. But you both need to go. It's nearly time." Turning her attention to Clint, Jocelyn tilted her head just slightly. "Would you like for me to go with you both? Having two familiar faces in a land of unknown may help him relax and not put him or the babe in danger."

Clinton yipped, wagging his hind end in agreement.

Nodding, Jocelyn stood to slip back into her room, gathering a small bundle of things she would need (including the soft and beautiful blanket she made for her grandchild).

Phillip carefully moved to stand again, whining pathetically as he leaned into Clinton as much as possible. He wanted to go and wanted everything to be over with soon.

Nosing his Mate, Clinton did everything he could to help him feel better. He licked at Phillip’s face and nuzzled at his shoulder.

With a couple of faint wags of the tail, Phillip nosed back at Clint and started forward when Jocelyn announced she was ready to go with them. He would have to let Clint lead the way, since he had no idea where to go. Everything hurt and he could feel his magic snapping and sparking to do _something_.

Clinton led them through the Keep down toward the stream. He licked at Mother's fingers and at Phillip's side as they walked - though, once there, he shifted to his Man form.

He crouched before Phillip. "May I lift you up? It may be easier for you if I carry you across."

Phillip wanted to shift, to change back to his base form of human, but he was honestly too afraid of what might happen if he did. He'd spent so long in wolf form that he didn't want to risk something happening to their child, or to him, if he changed now.  Instead, he whined pathetically and all but crawled himself into Clinton's arms.

Jocelyn reached to gently stroke down Phillip's head as she nodded to Clinton. "The time between approaches. It's probably best you carry him."

Clinton nodded, lifting Phillip up and holding him close. He looked over to Mother. "I know you probably remember but... Turn sunwise three times before stepping across the threshold," he said.

Smiling fondly, Jocelyn nodded and waited. Waiting for Clinton and her son to cross first before following.

Phillip squirmed and growled as more pain coursed through him, the magic doing nothing to dull it. If anything, it seemed to be adding to it.

Once the Time Between Times began, Clinton made his slow circles, careful to keep Phillip safe and close, strong arms holding him as tightly against his body as he dared, lest he drop him.

He stepped across the threshold of the river, in ten steps coming out the other side into the Other Realm. He knelt, letting Phillip down. "I'm sorry," he whispered heartfully, pressing a kiss to his Mate's forehead.

A moment later, Jocelyn appeared at their side. She glanced down to Phillip and Clinton, thoughtful for a moment, before shaking her head. "Perhaps you should keep carrying him," She suggested. "We can move faster if you're holding him."

Clinton whined, but chose to believe her, once more lifting Philip into his arms. "This way," he said. "It isn't very far. The Keep in the mortal world is built nearly where the healer's palace is in this." He waited until the Time Between had ended, then stepped back across the stream and off toward 'home'.

"It's not far," he whispered to Phillip, wishing he could take his pain unto himself.

Phillip whined for a moment before yipping and trying to turn to snap at his hind quarters. His breathing was quick and short, shallow pants, punctuated with whimpers.

Jocelyn followed at Clint's side, taking in the scenery of the place she knew so well as a child. Nothing had seemed to change all since she was young, yet it was clear quite a bit of time had passed.

Clinton rushed into the entry of the Hall of Healers. "Please, help my Mate!"

Silence fell among the healers as they all turned to face the arrival of the three newcomers. Into the long stretch of quiet, as they sat and stared at them, Jocelyn finally stepped forward.

Her face set in grim determination and shoulders squared, chin tipped up regally, Jocelyn stared the healers down. "I am Jocelyn. Grand-niece of Titania. This is my son," She motioned to the squirming and crying Phillip in Clinton's arms, "And we _need_ assistance. Immediately."

Clinton sank to the ground, cradling his whimpering Mate. "Please. You helped me long ago. You helped our alphas. Please help us, I know I'm my Pack's Omega, but please. Help my Mate," he begged.

Still, no one moved.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehhee Birth :) ~R

* * *

 **Finally, after a long moment of stilled silence** , a young fae healer came forward and stepped in front of Clinton and Phillip. "I will help, as best I can," they said, stealing a glance down to Phillip. "But, I am still learning the ways. I--"

"Oakton," A new voice drifted through the crowd, which parted and gave way to the two who had helped each other heal Clinton. "Fetch them water, and a smooth, round branch. He'll want something to clench his teeth on when the time to birth comes."

Coming to a stop in front of Jocelyn, Titania gave a small nod of recognition. "Elviana, we'll care for your son."

Jocelyn didn't let her relief show as she nodded, inclined her head just a bit in respect, and also very much didn't comment on her old and long forgotten fae name.

The fae who had approached Clinton nodded sharply before scurrying off to do as they'd been told.

Clinton looked up at Titania and Frigga with tears in his eyes. "We just wanted a pup of our own... It worked for Bruce and Anthony, I thought-"  He was afraid, and unable to hide it now that he was among those who'd remade him.

Titania gave Clinton a fond smile as she reached to place a hand on his shoulder. "Fear not, young one. We will do everything we can to help your mate and pup. Rest him on the ground, so that we may examine him properly."

He nodded, swallowing thickly as he did what he was told, uncomfortable in his Man's skin, but needing the communication to other races that it offered.

Titania and Frigga both moved to kneel beside Phillip. They ran their hands down his side, across the top of his head, down his back and to the tip of his tail.

Phillip, terrified and in an unfamiliar place -- being touched by unfamiliar people and magic -- whined and growled, and turned to snap at their hands when they came to close his hind quarters. He didn't want to be touched! Not by _strangers_.

Looking up, Titania gave a small frown. "He is not in his base form?"

"He was always sick. When he wasn't after he shifted, he's stayed like this. We fear shifting will hurt the pup?" Clinton said. He felt so out of his understanding. "Is that why he is hurting?" he asked, resting a gentle hand on the back of Phillip's neck.

Titania shared a look with Frigga before looking back to Clinton. "He is in distress. His body needs to change. To take its base form. If he tries to birth in this form, it would be fatal."

Phillip whined and whimpered, trying to squirm away from Titania and Frigga, trying to get back into Clinton's arms. Wanting to be held and to howl in pain.

Clinton held him, petting a hand through his fur, and shifted enough to nip the top of Phillip's muzzle in the wolf's gesture of 'I'm in charge'. He shifted back before kissing Phillip between the eyes. "I know you are scared, but you need to take your true form, Phillip. You can trust these women, they brought me back to you, they will keep you safe. We must listen to them. Take your Man's form."

Body trembling, Phillip whined, ears tucked back as he looked up at Clinton pleadingly. Finally, after a moment, he closed his eyes, trying hard to focus on his natural form past the pain and fear. While it took a little longer than it should have, a human sob escaped him at long last, followed by another as he tried to curl up on himself. Bare as the day he was born and with his abdomen largely distended -- showing how great with child he was - he opened his eyes as tears fell. "Please!" He sobbed, "It hurts! I...I..." His words broke off as another contraction wracked his body and a scream filled the air.

Clinton whimpered, rubbing a hand down his Mate's back. Frigga joined them, placing a soft, cool hand at the small of Phillip's back, pressing against certain places on the back of his hips to help open his pelvis through the contraction. "Try getting on your hands and knees, or crouching holding onto Clinton, the shift in the position will help ease the way." She glanced between his legs and noted that - like Bruce when he'd begun the birthing - the thin lined perineum skin was beginning to split in order to stretch into a proper birth canal. "You are doing very well, Phillip. Have faith in your body."

Jocelyn stepped forward, ready to help her son move into a more comfortable position. It may have been twenty-one years ago, but she well remembered the pain she herself went through when giving birth to him.

Moving onto his knees carefully, slowly, Phillip sobbed out again, one hand clutching Clinton's arm in a bruising grip. He stopped partway, shaking his head frantically and trying so hard to just double over and curl up. "No... No it... I c-can't.... it hurts!!"

"Breathe," Frigga told him, pressing her hands into the back of his hips again, more mobile than they would have been if he hadn't had his body shifted. "Your body can do this, have faith."

Phillip struggled to pull in a breath, the pain subsiding just enough that he could breathe. Still, he panted heavily, looking up into Clinton's eyes with fear in his own. He truly didn't understand just what exactly was happening, and was scared of somehow hurting their child.

"Phillip," Jocelyn coaxed, hand on his elbow, "You can do it, my sweet boy. Just do as Titania and Frigga tell you to do. You will be fine."

Titania nodded, taking the water and branch from Oakton when they returned. "Take a small sip," she instructed, handing him the goblet of water. She waited as Phillip did so and handed him the branch when he'd finished. "Bite down on this. Do as we instruct. You and your babes shall be fine."

"They are very healthy, and ready to meet you," Frigga said softly as she gently rubbed Phillip's back. "When you scream, you lose much of your energy. Try to focus your energy to your core, to your children."

Clinton kept his eyes on Phillip's, gently brushing his hand down his cheek. Until the plurals came out. "More than one?"

Titania nodded as she took the bundle from Jocelyn and unrolled the blanket. "Two. Very strong. Nearly time to start pushing, young one."

Swallowing hard, Phillip closed his eyes, his head pressed to Clinton's chest as he struggled not to scream but instead focus on his core and doing as he was told. He didn't even hear the plural.

"You are amazing. You are so strong, so beautiful. You are wonderful, my beloved Mate," Clinton said, gently rubbing his back and holding him through the contractions, letting Phillip grab onto him however hard he needed to.

Phillip clutched at Clinton's arms and shoulders, the magic he'd been given coursing through his body and helping him to slowly -- literally painfully slowly -- calm, and let nature take its course with him.

Titania nodded to Frigga, indicating that things were as they should be and it should just be another minute more before the first babe would begin to crown.

"Keep breathing, Phillip," Jocelyn soothed, nodding to Clinton that he was also doing a very good job helping. "You're doing so well."

Clinton continued to praise Phillip as Frigga settled down behind him to gently cradle the wee head as the crowning began. Others around did their best to make this as peaceful as they could, even as Phillip's body learned what it meant to be a Bearer. "Push when you feel the need to, do not hold back. You are doing lovely, Phillip." Frigga said.

Grinding down on the stick between his teeth, Phillip clenched his eyes as he began pushing. It hurt in ways he never knew possible -- he did not understand how it could be blinding ache one moment, then floating nothing the next -- but he could at least feel when the head had cleared, followed by shoulders, and soon the rest of the little body slipped from his own with a rush of relief.

And little it was. So small for a human born babe, he was wrapped quickly in a cloth, face wiped clean and handed off to another to be cleaned properly and taken care of.

"Very good, young one. Breathe. Rest a moment while your second makes its way."

Clinton kissed Phillip softly as his Mate rested in the valley of grace between births. The women exchanged glances, knowing the euphoria of the birth would begin any moment, erasing the pain seamlessly.

"You are so beautiful," Clinton told his Mate, nuzzling his temple.

Phillip's body relaxed into Clinton's, the stick dropped from his mouth as he let out a gaspy laugh and just tried to catch his breath. He nuzzled into Clinton's chest for a moment, the pain suddenly gone, even as their second child came closer to meeting the world.

Clinton continued to nuzzle him, playing his hand gently over the back of his neck and up into his hair. He grinned, so in love with him, even now, Phillip was the most beautiful creature in the worlds.

Titania returned to Phillip and Clinton's side, a cool cloth in hand that she dabbed across Phillip's brow. "One more time, young one. Then you can rest and be done. We are not there yet, however."

Giving a weak nod, Phillip swallowed hard again and tightened his hold on Clinton's shoulders once more. He could feel the other move into position, starting to make its way down, the urge to push push push getting stronger with each passing second. Unlike the first though, this felt different somehow. His magic surged and sparked more than it had the first time. Something felt... different. Not _wrong_ , but certainly not _right_  to him either.

A storm was brewing outside, thunder rolling along with their firstborn’s first cries, even as Frigga gently probed at the birth canal, still a little open where skin had once lain smoothly seamed. "I will touch you, Phillip, if you feel the need to push, do as you need," she instructed, gently pressing her fingertips within. "Ah. Yes, push as you need, I will aid you."

Phillip drew in a shaky breath, waited a moment and began to push. He could feel movement, could feel the babe start on its way down, helped along by the magic and Frigga.

Clinton returned to praising his beloved, trusting that he was taken care of.

"Very good, you are doing so well, Phillip," Frigga said, gently helping their secondborn into the outside world.

It didn't take long for Phillip to feel the offspring edge its way out. The storm outside continued to grow, cooling the air and making it easier to breathe. Washing the world anew as new life was brought into it.

Gently, Frigga pulled the sac free, cleaning the little blind creature.

Clinton glanced over to see, and his breath caught as lightning arced across the sky outside.

The Pup wriggled a little, sniffing around blindly.

Titania smiled softly as she handed off a warmed cloth to be wrapped around the Pup. Beside her, Jocelyn had to wipe a tear away as she gazed down on her two beautiful grandsons.

The hard part finally over, Phillip sagged into Clinton's lap; utterly physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted. He wanted to see their babies, but just closing his eyes and going to sleep also sounded like a fantastic idea.

Frigga chuckled. "You can take a break and hold your children while you deliver the afterbirth," she told them. Clinton was still watching them, one Man, one Wolf, and was utterly besotted.

Finally, _finally_ Phillip lifted his head off Clinton's chest and turned back to those still behind him. He could see one bundle secure in his mother's arms, the second being held towards Clinton by Titania.

"I know you did not bear, but if you would like to clean him, it is safe for you to shift and do so."

Clinton whimpered his joy and nodded, shifting slowly so as still to support Phillip, nosing at the small bundle, his tail thumping on the floor. A tiny silver Wolf Pup nosed back, eyes still closed, as Clinton set to cleaning the soft fur.

Phillip settled against Clinton once he shifted. He watched Clinton gently clean the little Pup and looked back to their first born -- considerably bigger than the Pup, but still so very small.

Sensing eyes on her, Jocelyn came to sit at Phillip's side and showed him how to carefully hold the babe, how to keep his little head up and how to keep him close and warm against his chest.

Oakton appeared with a small bottle for the Pup, placing it near Clinton's side so he could nose his Pup to 'nurse' straight away. A white ball of fluff, the pup shuffled and nosed around, mouthing the small 'teat' before latching on and suckling greedily.

The older child blinked wide eyes and snuffled quietly, trying to find the right place to latch on, with little 'eh, eh, eh' sounds.

"I... I don't..." Phillip looked between those gathered and the child, confused.

Jocelyn moved Phillip so he was better situated as Titania nudged the newborn's head closer to Phillip's chest. "You will be able to nurse him, do not fear. You must be calm, relaxed. He will take care of the rest."

Turning his head to look at Clinton and the Pup, Phillip frowned. "What about that one? Will I..."

"You will, and when you are able to shift, you will do so more easily for him. Do not fear." Titania gave another nod and distanced herself from the new family, giving orders to others to secure a temporary home for them to rest and grow in.

Frigga stayed nearby, taking the afterbirth when it was delivered with barely a thought, cleaning Phillip's body and smoothing a healing potion across the skin at his birthing place.

Clinton whine-yipped, licking at Phillip's shoulder as their infant latched on and began to suckle.

_Two. They had TWO!_

Phillip turned his eyes to Clinton and smiled an exhausted but ecstatic smile. They'd not known they were going to have more than one, but it was a good surprise. Both were beautiful and strong, if a bit of the runty side. Still, both boys were just... _beautiful_.

"We did it..." Phillip whispered, tears of joy welling up in his eyes.

Clinton yipped the affirmative, thumping his tail. He licked at Phillip's cheek in joy before shifting to gently hold the bottle while cradling their Pup, leaning in to kiss Phillip soft and gentle, so filled with joy he didn't know how to contain himself.

While the newborns ate their first meals, Phillip leaned himself back against Clinton as carefully as possible, so as not to upset their offspring. It felt so surreal to be holding the two in his arms after carrying them for so long within.

"We'll have to name them," Phillip finally murmured, unaware that those gathered had drifted to give them space, and time to bond, while a temporary home was located for them.

Humming, Clinton nuzzled him as he thought. "Donald for the younger Pup?" he asked.

Phillip nodded in thought before smiling softly. "Donald for Pup, yes. I like that." He turned his gaze back down to the newborn in his arms. Carefully, he stroked his fingers down the babe's cheek. "What about... Stephen, for this one?"

"That is a good name," he agreed. "Stephen the elder, and Donald the younger." He kissed Phillip's hair. "You are magnificent."

A faint blush crept across Phillip's face as he ducked his head slightly. He looked back up at Clinton from under his lashes and leaned in to nuzzle him gently. "I love you."

"I love you," was the simple and heartfelt reply.

Together, Phillip sat with Clinton while their babes ate, until a page approached and cleared their throat. "If you will follow me," they said, "I will show you to your dwelling."

"Can you stand?" Clinton asked Phillip, Donald now fast asleep and tucked in the crook of his arm.

Phillip bit his lip in thought. "I'm not sure..."

Jocelyn stepped up to Clinton's side. "Let me carry my grandchildren," she smiled as she held her arms out for them both. "You carry Phillip."

"Thank you, Mother," Clinton said, gently giving the sleeping Donald over to her before taking Stephen and placing him in her arms as well. He bent to pick up Phillip, uncaring of the mess of afterbirth beneath him - he knew enough to know that it would take Phillip's body more time than a wolf's might in order to finish cleansing after bearing. "Love," he whispered to Phillip once he had him in his arms, standing and waiting for the page to show them where they were meant to go, he could think on nothing but his Mate and Pups.

The Page gave a curt bow, before turning swiftly and leading them off through the great hall, while others moved in to clean the area they'd left behind. They led the family down halls and tunnels before coming to a cozy yet spacious den. Furnished in dark woods and soft pelts, it was clearly reserved for those of a higher standing. "Your quarters." The page waved them in through the door. "Should you require anything during your stay, I am at your service."

"Thank you," Clinton replied, carrying Phillip over to some of the soft pelts in the corner, safe and defensible - though he knew that wasn't necessary, instinct was a difficult mistress to ignore - nuzzling into him and holding an arm out for Mother and the children to come closer.

Jocelyn moved towards the pair as the page gave another sharp bow and left them to their own. As Jocelyn reached her son and his Mate, her smile brightened and she handed the Pup to Phillip and the Manborn to Clinton. "Don't favor one over the other. Bond with them both. In both forms."

Clinton nodded, fascinated with the small child in his arms, unsure of how to keep him safe. "He is so soft!" he exclaimed in wonder.

Phillip laughed quietly, grinning at Clinton as he held the small Pup in his hands. "They're _both_ soft."

"I didn't know they could be so soft," he whispered, fascinated as he ran his finger down his son's cheek then played with the tufts of blond hair.

"His head is very delicate," Jocelyn explained softly. "So you both must be very careful with him, especially. I suspect Donald will need delicate handling for the first few weeks as well?"

Clinton nodded. "He is not so independent. He won't be able to stay warm or void on his own, and he is deaf and blind for the first few weeks. I can help with that," he promised.

Phillip was relieved to hear that. He didn't have a clue how to care of either of the newborns, but he was mostly worried about how he would care for their Pup.

"I will help in any way that I can," Jocelyn added, leaning to kiss Phillip's head, and then Clinton's. "Your babies are both absolutely beautiful. I am so proud of both of you."

The look Clinton gave Jocelyn was sheer joy. Joy at being sire once more, at having his own Pups (children?), and at her praise. "Thank you," he said, wrapping the furs around the four of them, that their own body heat will keep the pup and child warm.

"You both rest now. I will go find food for you and return in a little while." With another smile, Jocelyn stood and slipped quietly from the suite of rooms.

Clinton cradled Stephen close, looking between him, and Phillip and Donald. "I want to howl so the worlds know we've got them, now," he admitted.

Huffing a half laugh and shifting awkwardly on the pelts, Phillip gave a small smile and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm fairly certain they know. I wasn't exactly quiet."

"Still want to," Clinton replied, grinning back. "You called them into the world, they will be strong and clever - never ignored or forgotten," he decided.

Phillip stroked Donald's head and back gently. "And they'll be brave and handsome like their father."

Clinton moved so they could lay their young between them, adjusting the blankets and watching Phillip.  "I never knew Love before I knew you. Now I feel so much of it, I think I'm gonna explode."

With a content sigh, Phillip smiled and glanced down in time to see the two boys -- so very different from each other and yet the same -- gravitate towards each other and curl together. It was possibly the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

He lifted his eyes, after a moment of watching their young, and drew in a shaken breath. "I have so much more in my life now, than I ever thought possible. And I have you to thank for all of it. None of it would be, were it not for you."

Clinton leaned in and kissed him softly. "We should thank Pepper for reading your sign to me, or we may never have met."

"We shall, when we return home."

"Can we wait until Donald is able to play with Maria?"

Phillip nodded. "I think that would be a very good idea." He thought for a moment, before blushing and looking back to Clinton. "I'm... afraid I don't know much about puppies. Not that I know much about babes in general..."

"We have Mother to teach us how to help Stephen, and I can teach you how to help Donald," he promised. "Donald will sleep when he isn't feeding. I don't know what Stephen will do. His eyes open already."

As if on cue, Stephen shifted flailed one tiny fist before settling back down, wrapped around Donald protectively.

"I didn't know they'd be so small," Phillip whispered, gently laying his hand over them.

"Pups are small," Clinton said. "Aren't infant's small, too?"

"I don't know," Phillip shook his head. "I've only seen them once they had been older. I don't know how small they are supposed to be."

"They smell new, and healthy," Clinton said, looking at their young with naked adoration. "We should sleep, especially you. You will need to shift to feed Donald, though if Stephen's suckling draws you out, maybe you won't? I don't rightly know."

Phillip stifled a yawn and nodded, leaning forward to kiss Clinton gently, and then their young. "We will just have to wait and find out, I suppose."

"Together," Clinton promised, nuzzling their young before closing his eyes, his hand resting on Phillip's hip.

With a small smile in place, Phillip nodded, allowed his own eyes to close, and settled down for a deep, exhaustion-fueled, sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( Childbirth is a beautiful and varied thing. Sometimes it is difficult, sometimes it is not. Phillip would be somewhat on the halfway toward difficult, I imagine - what with the change to his anatomy. I imagine if he has more, someday, they will go far more smoothly. I've four 'Pups' of my own, half cut out, half birthed at home - the last came swift as lightning! Childbirth is the most amazing thing, both when difficult and when easy, and the feeling of bearing one on your own, the pain mixed with the euphoria, is something I don't think anything can imitate. Re reading this while I edited is making me miss pregnancy and childbirth something fierce :) I need a bigger home! :) ~R))


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((updated tag: postpartum depression))

**After a month of recovery and care,** the trio and two young were ready to go home. Clinton grasped Donald by the ruff, the little Pup obediently curling up to be easier to carry as they headed to the threshold at the Time Between Times; Phillip, Mother, and Stephen following close behind them. 

Phillip had Stephen wrapped securely in blankets, guarding him from the weather and keeping the little one close to his chest. It was still surreal to him that these two little boys were theirs. As he stepped up beside Clinton at the threshold, he readjusted Stephen in his arms before taking a breath. "We'll follow you," He finally said, reaching down to touch Clinton's back gently. 

The brown wolf wagged his tail and, turning in place sunwise three times, stepped over the threshold with the silver-white pup dangling from his jaws. He stepped out into night and walked a little way from the threshold to turn and wait, Donald yawning a pup's yawn and looking around curiously at the mortal realm. 

Jocelyn stepped across next, followed by Phillip and Stephen, the child making small noises of protest that threatened to grow into full on wails if Phillip hadn't gently shushed and calmed him. Swaying in place, Phillip took in his surroundings. It felt like it had been ages since they'd last been in their homeland. 

Clinton set Donald down and licked over his nose once before looking back at the others with a yipping grin, his tail wagging his hind end along with him. He threw back his head and howled their homecoming, Donald's high Newpup voice joining in after a moment. 

The smile that broke out across Phillip's face nearly stretched from ear to ear. Donald still hadn't quite figured howling out, but he was getting there, and it was adorable to watch and listen to him just the same. Of course, with Clinton's howl and Donald's higher-pitched one, Stephen took his cue to start crying. 

In the distance, a faint howl of reply drifted on the night breeze. Anthony and Bruce were outside, and apparently on their way to meet them. 

Clinton barked happily at the sound of the Alphas of their pack, wagging his hind end again before howling back, Donald dancing around between his feet and adding his own 'yay everyone's happy; I will be happy, too!' yips to the song. 

Anthony and Bruce continued to yip and bark as they rushed their way down the path towards the rest of their packmates. It had only been a day or so for them, but still, they were anxious to meet the newest member of the pack. 

Anthony was first to reach them, skidding to a halt when he saw little Donald bouncing around Clinton. Tongue dangling, he lowered his front half, tail wagging as he edged closer to investigate. 

With the innocence of youth, the Newpup capered over to him and licked at his snout before stamping his feet hello, his little tail curling up over his back and wagging his hind end so hard he fell over. 

Clinton licked first under Anthony's muzzle, then Bruce's in hello, rolling to bare his belly before laying on the ground, watching the little Pup play before looking back at his Mate and their Mother, yipping. 

Phillip, still holding Stephen in his arms -- who had thankfully calmed down again, now that he remembered he had a fist to be shoving in his mouth -- smiled down at Clinton, watching the way Anthony and Bruce greeted and played with Donald. 

Clinton stood and whined, stepping back and shifting. He coughed, clearing his spoken voice. "That's our Secondborn Donald," he said, motioning to the Newpup on the ground. He reached to put a hand at the small of Phillip's back. "Here is Firstborn Stephen." 

With the Newpup toppled over, Anthony glanced up to where Clinton was standing next to Phillip and tilted his head. They had two pups? But why wasn't the second one running and scampering with his brother? There was a faint, off scent to the air, and Anthony honestly feared that Stephen was sickly and runt-ish. It was their nature, after all, and the way of the wild, that the sickly runt-ish ones be abandoned in order for the stronger ones to survive. 

Stepping forward cautiously, Anthony glanced back at Bruce before coming to a stop in front of Phillip. He sniffed again once, then twice, then moved his nose in closer to the bundle for another sniff before shifting and coming to stand as a Man. "I don't smell a pup...?" 

"He doesn't take after me," Clinton said, biting his lip, worried that his Alpha would reject his younger Pup as Wrong. He’d seen sickly pups, while growing up with their cousin wolves, taken care of, but only briefly mourned when they did not survive - something he was never able to do. He reached over, and gently pulled back the swaddling cloth to expose Stephen's bright eyed face. 

A knot and lump formed in Phillip's chest and he tried not to hunch his shoulders as he held Stephen close. There was a very strong urge to apologize building up in his throat as Anthony peered in closer at Stephen. "He... takes after me," Phillip finally managed past the tightness in his chest. 

Anthony sniffed at Stephen's head for a moment before looking back up between Clinton and Phillip. "He's human? Kinda runty-- OW!" His words cut off as Bruce came to stand beside him, Newpup in one arm and his elbow lodged in his Mate's side. 

"He's very handsome," Bruce noted with a smile. 

Clinton's grin returned. "He is healthy. We got Two Pups!" He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, watching Donald settle down with a yawn after the excitement. 

Rubbing at his side, Anthony made a slight face as he glanced back over his shoulder towards the Keep. "He smells funny." 

Bruce rolled his eyes and lightly elbowed Anthony in side again. "You don't exactly smell like a bed of roses all of the time, either." He looked back to Clinton, Phillip, and Jocelyn, and smiled. "Come home, Anthony and I just got back from a hunt. We'll have a celebration. This seems to call for one." 

Clinton reached for Donald. "Can I...?" 

Nodding, Bruce carefully handed Donald back to Clinton before taking a step back to shift, waiting for Anthony to do the same so they could lead the way home. 

Clinton cuddled his sleeping Pup and leaned down to kiss the forehead of his wakeful one before he kissed Phillip softly. "You are perfect." 

Phillip smiled softly, almost shyly, as he carefully bundled Stephen back up. "You go on with Donald, we'll be right behind." 

Clinton looked back to Mother, flashing a smile, before giving Phillip another kiss, setting Donald down as he shifted, then picked him up again, racing after the Alphas. 

With a deep breath and tired sigh, Phillip followed along behind, his mother beside him. He watched in the dim light as Clinton carefully chased after Anthony and Bruce, and as the quartet of wolves were met by Pepper and little Maria near the Keep. Excited yips and barks and howls filled the air and echoed down the hillsides. 

Looking down at the now sleeping babe in his arms, Phillip dipped his head to kiss Stephen's fine hair softly. Even so, worries and concerns - and even a bit of sadness - curled up in the pit of his stomach. 

Rhodes had come to visit whilst they were gone, and stepped out to watch the Pack reunite for only a moment, patting Clinton and the new Donald on the head before moving to join Phillip and Jocelyn with their wee one. "Welcome home," he said. 

Jocelyn smiled fondly as she gave a nod to the Mage. "Thank you. It's nice to be home." Looking to her son, she motioned to Stephen. "Want me to take him inside for you?" 

"No, that's alright. Thank you, Mama, but I have him." Phillip turned his gaze then to Rhodes and followed in, giving a nod of hello. "Good evening. Thank you." 

Rhodes stayed in step with Phillip. "You look well. Don't fret, I doubt a one of them have seen a human child in their long lives." He paused and put a hand on Phillip's shoulder. "Don't let their ignorance worry at you. You are all members of their Pack." 

Phillip's smile was small and polite, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes. Surely it'd be easy enough to blame on being slightly sleep deprived. "Thank you, Rhodes." 

"Neither of you will be forsaken," he said. He started to say more, but then Clinton was there, Donald at his heels, the Pup putting his paws up on Phillip's leg even as Clinton whined and nosed at his side worriedly. 

Reaching a hand down, Phillip curled it into Clinton's fur gently, casting a smile down to him and to Donald. "It's alright," He said, hoping he sounded reassuring. "I'm just tired. It's getting late, and Stephen is a bit heavy once he falls asleep." 

Clinton shifted, nodding to Rhodes as he picked Donald up, putting an arm around Phillip. "Want me to take him? We can go right up to our Den." 

"No, I have him, thank you." Phillip shook his head even as he leaned in against Clinton's side. He looked back to Rhodes. "You should be properly introduced. That's Donald," Phillip nodded off to the squirmy fluff-ball in Clinton's arms, "And this is Stephen." 

"A great pleasure to meet them both," Rhodes said with a genuine grin. He rested a palm each on Donald and Stephen's heads in brief benediction. "They are strong." He looked up at the parents. "You are all truly blessed." 

Phillip gave a smile and ducked his head slightly in acknowledgement. When he lifted his head, it was in time to see Anthony dragging a large stag from around the corner of the Keep. Looking back to Clinton, Phillip leaned carefully to press a kiss to his Mate's cheek. "I think they're waiting for you two. Just don't let him eat too much. Don't want him getting sick." It was only recently that the little wolf pup began to slowly switch from milk to meat. 

Clinton looked worriedly at his Mate for a long moment, trying to find the true answer in his eyes. 

Leaning in again, Phillip nosed at Clinton's chin before carefully reaching to scritch Donald behind the ears. "Go on. He's hungry. We'll see you in the den." 

Clinton kissed him, dropping his face to Phillip's throat to breathe in deeply before he nosed his temple and took Donald with him back toward the gathering Wolves. 

Phillip watched for another moment or two before he carefully made his way into the Keep and back to their den, only to realize things were set up in anticipation of bringing home a Wolf pup. They'd need a bed for Stephen, a real bed. That, though, was something he'd worry about after getting him fed, burped, and changed. And, hopefully, back to sleep. 

**Clinton looked over his shoulder** , watching his Mate and Firstborn go inside with a confused, upset whine. However, trusting in his Mate's choice, he shifted back, setting Donald down and nosing him to slowly run along with him to the Kill. 

Back at the stag, Anthony looked up to watch the two approach, tail wagging as they got closer. He yipped at them, nosing the antlers towards Donald. 

The silver Pup capered over, climbing up into them to gnaw on the tip of one. 

Clinton followed a little more sedately, watching them all and sitting aside to wait his turn. 

Bruce glanced around, looking for Phillip and Stephen and tilted his head when he didn't see them. He shifted, hand curling into Anthony's fur as he looked to Clinton. "Where is Phillip?" He asked, nudging meat towards him. 

Clinton shifted back. "He took Stephen to our Den." He frowned slightly. "Wanted me to bring Donald here...." He looked up at him, a shade of the confused Pup he'd been when he'd first met them - before his years South - in his gaze. 

Giving a small nod, Bruce nudged the meat to Clinton a bit more. "Eat, make sure your pup eats. Phillip is probably making sure Stephen eats." 

Clinton nodded, doing as the Alpha mate told him, shifting back and eating some of the meat before nosing at Donald. The pup tumbled down and stuck his nose in the corner of Clinton's mouth, causing him to bring back the meat from his belly basket, falling upon the easier Pup-meat as his father tore into the rest of it, watching him carefully. 

Anthony made a small noise in the back of his throat, not quite a growl, just a noise. One that earned him another elbow to the ribs by Bruce. Rolling his eyes, he made a mental note to talk to Anthony later about his noises. Shifting back, he moved to give Maria room to gnaw at the meat next to him as he continued to eat. 

Clinton watched the Alpha warily as he ate, taking Donald by the scruff -once the pup had finished- and vowing to come back to sneak a bit to cook up for Phillip and Mother once his Pup was safe with his Mate. Carrying Donald - yawning and starting to already doze off where he was curled up - he skulked away. 

**Phillip was in their den,** Stephen in a sling around his neck as Phillip searched around for a cradle of some form to put him in for the night. 

Clinton shifted after resting Donald on a bit of furs, moving to rest a hand on his Mate's nape. "What are you looking for?" 

He glanced up when he heard their door creak open and smiled softly at the question. "A basket for Stephen to sleep in. He doesn't like sleeping on the pillows, and the floor's too cold. I don't know why I didn't think to bring one home for him." 

"What about the nest of furs Donald curled up in?" he asked. "If we shore it up with pillows?" 

"I don't know. What if he rolls over into the furs? He's only a month old. He could choke or something." 

Clinton pressed a kiss to Phillip's cheek. "I will find a basket," he promised before slipping out of the room and searching through the Keep for one he could take for their child. 

Phillip sighed heavily, carefully setting himself down onto the pillows, head in his hands. 

**Clinton kept poking about the Keep** , staying only out of the other’s Dens. When Jarvis found him, Clinton shyly asked for what he needed. The Man smiled softly, and directed Clinton to follow him to a small storage room. “This belongs to your Mate,” he said, picking up a lovely long basket, long enough even for a toddler child to nap in. “Feel free to keep it. Also, any of these blankets are free for your use, take what you need. Do you wish for help to carry them to your Den?” 

“Thank you, no. I can do it.” Clinton gave Jarvis a small smile of thanks and piled a few blankets into the basket, it did not take him long to choose them, then he carried them back up through the Keep. 

Phillip looked up when Clinton stepped back into the room with the basket. He stood as quickly as he could, a small, relieved smile in place. "You found one?" 

"Jarvis had one," he said, setting it on the floor beside where Donald was sleeping, his little ear twitching. "It, uh. He said we can keep it, since it's yours anyway?" 

Phillip looked to the basket and shrugged, already carefully pulling Stephen from the sling to place him inside it. "I don't recognize it, but, okay. So long as Stephen fits in it, that's all that matters." 

Clinton helped tuck him in, brushing aside the whispy blond hair. "Are you hungry?" He asked, looking up at Phillip again. 

Slipping the sling off from around his neck and shoulders, Phillip set it aside and allowed himself to fall back into the pillows with a 'whumph!' He sat silent for a minute before finally nodding. "Yes, I am. Don't suppose Jarvis has anything cooked left in the kitchen?" 

"I'm sure there's something, I'll get it for you." He paused on his way back to the door and turned, giving Phillip a soft smile. "Love." he said simply. 

When Phillip smiled back this time, it did reach his eyes, enough to make them shine in the dim light of their den. "Love you," he answered back softly. 

The soft smile turned into a broad grin, and in a moment, there was a brown tail flicking out the door as Clinton shifted and raced back to find Jarvis and Man-food for his Mate. 

**Phillip huffed a laugh** as Clinton went scurrying off. He used his time alone to strip out of his clothes and make himself comfortable on their nest of pillows. A warm blanket pulled up to his shoulders as he rolled onto his side and carefully dropped his arm across where both their sons lay sleeping. He didn't worry so much, while they were in the South, about Stephen or Donald. But now that they were home, and he'd seen first hand how the others took more to Donald than they did to Stephen, Phillip worried. 

What if Stephen was fully Man? It was possible, after all. Phillip had been born human, and Clinton could shift to human, so there had to be a chance then that Stephen would just remain human his whole life. How would that affect things within Clint's pack? Donald was already able to run and jump and roll and play, it wouldn't be long at all before he'd be able to chase and rough-house with Maria, while Stephen was still completely dependent on Phillip. It would be ages before he would be old enough to play with his brother and cousin. 

Even then, he wouldn't be able to play in the same way. And would he ever be able to keep up if they went running? Would Donald resent Stephen if he were treated differently for being human? Was Stephen going to grow up feeling left out and awkward and different because he wasn't Wolf? 

Being home brought so many concerns and questions to Phillip's mind and made his heart ache with worry and sadness. He'd done something wrong. He had to have. He didn't do something right, or maybe he just _wasn't_ right. Either way, it had to be his fault that Stephen was different. 

Clinton returned in his Man shape, carrying a large bowl filled with thick stew, and some bread. He knelt beside Phillip and cupped his cheek. "Hey, I brought food. It smells good." 

Phillip startled just slightly when Clinton touched his cheek. He'd been so lost to his own thoughts that he hadn't even heard him come back. Looking down to the bowl, he carefully pushed himself back into a sitting position and gently accepted it. "Thank you..." 

"Welcome. Eat up." Clinton gave him a worried smile and shifted to look over their sons, first gently touching Stephen, resting his hand on the small body, feeling his heart beat. So tiny and precious, his first born. Every protective instinct he had was multiplied as he looked down at him, at the both of them; Donald's nose was smushed up against the basket, as though he were trying to get to his big brother. He smiled softly as he simply watched them. 

The stew was good, and the bread was delicious with it, but after only a few bites and spoonfuls, Phillip set both bread and bowl aside and just put his head in his hands once more. The urge to apologize rose up in his throat again, sharply cutting off a breath with a soft sob. 

Clinton glanced up at the movement and a concerned whimper came out from his throat before he could bite it off. Making sure the boys were warm and safe, he moved back to Phillip's side, moving the food a bit farther away and pulling him into his arms. "What is it?" 

Phillip let himself be pulled into a hug. As soon as he was against Clinton's chest, he had his head under Clinton's chin and his nose pressed to the hollow of his Mate's neck. He cried softly against him, warring against his own mind -- one half telling him to to share his fears with Clinton, the other half telling him to stop crying, he was being ridiculous. 

Meanwhile, the young Wolf was growing more concerned. He rocked Phillip in the way they did their Manborn Pup. He murmured nonsense into his hair, and finally. "What is it?" once more. A simple plea to be told what was wrong, so he could find a way to fix it. 

Taking a deep breath, Phillip hiccuped twice before he wiped at his eyes and shook his head. No, it was better not to say. Clinton seemed blissfully oblivious to the fact their twin sons were going to wind up having such different lives, and all because something in Phillip was wrong. "I...I'm..." He sniffled and swallowed thickly. "I'm s-sorry. I... guess I'm more tired than I thought I was. I... thank you for bringing me something to eat." 

Clinton just held him a little tighter. Phillip had been fine before they'd come home. Maybe he just missed the South? "Always," he promised. "You'll tell me if something's wrong." 

Phillip nodded and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Yes..." 

"Good." Clinton nodded and gave him a soft kiss before situating them both under the covers, spooning up behind his Mate so he could watch over everyone. 

Taking another sniffly breath, Phillip snuggled his back in as close as he could to Clint, hugged his Mate's arm to his chest, and tried to force himself to sleep. He would have hungry pups to take care of again in a couple of hours, he had to sleep while he had the chance. 

Clinton wrapped his arm over Phillip, his hand resting on the other end of the basket, just barely, holding his world - his Mate and Pups - in his arms as he fell quickly to sleep. 

*** * ***

**Now that the pack was whole again** , and even had new members, Anthony was near beside himself with happiness. It felt good to have a proper pack again. Even better with the pack expanding. There was hope for them all, yet! It was even nicer now that Maria had someone to play with. 

With his little girl bouncing and trotting along beside him and between his feet, Anthony moved to Clinton's den and tapped on the door, Maria yipping along with. It was a nice day out, the pups should be out playing in the grass, not cooped up inside. 

For the past several days, as he watched his Mate become more worried, Clinton got more protective. He brought the meals back to their Den, letting Mother do as she liked, keeping his family unit close and safe. Something about the shift was unsettling his Phillip, and in turn made Clinton feel on guard. He opened the door a little, just enough to peek out. "Need something?" 

When the door opened enough for Clinton to peek out, Maria rushed forward to try and wiggle her way in. She only wanted to play with her new packmate. Anthony scooted to the side to let her through. 

"Thought the pups would like to go get some fresh air and sunshine for a little while. Get a bit of time out of the den. Six weeks, old enough to go exploring a little ways. Get used to the lay of the Keep and everything." 

Clinton let her in but kept the door mostly closed to Anthony. "Give me a few minutes to get the boys." 

Anthony dropped his chin a bit at the plural added. Right. Boys. Both of them. Clearing his throat softly, he nodded and stepped to the side. "Right. Yes, of course. I'll meet you outside." 

Clinton nodded, lips thinning, and shut the door in his Alpha's face, watching Maria get Donald to come caper about the floor as he moved over to where Phillip was huddled up with Stephen. "Hey," he said, crouching down with them. "Mind if I bring Stephen outside for a little air?" He reached out and brushed back Phillip's hair. 

Instinctively, Phillip leaned into Clinton's touch, his eyes falling shut as he did. When he opened them and met his Mate's eyes, he sat quiet for a moment before finally nodding. "I suppose so. He could use some fresh air." 

"Want to come?" 

Phillip quirked an eyebrow. "And miss the chance to nap and not have to worry about anyone waking up to chew on me in my sleep?" 

Clinton chuckled warmly and leaned down to steal a tender kiss from his beloved. 

Sighing into the kiss softly, Phillip let it linger for a moment before he pulled back and moved to get Stephen situated in the carry basket. "Just try to keep him out of the sun. He doesn't have fur to ward off a burn of any kind." 

"I remember," Clinton said gently. "May I use the sling?" 

"It's over there by the window," Phillip motioned to his left before reaching to scoop Maria up before she could pounce the basket and tip it and Stephen over. 

Donald stood on the other side, leaning over and sniffling at his brother, licking his cheek and generally trying to be cuddly without climbing into the basket with him. (Oh, he'd tried that, too, many times - but he'd learned that apparently he wasn't allowed to snuggle up with him anymore. Stupid fluffy hard things.). Clinton huffed a laugh and stood, getting the sling and carefully putting it on, before gently lifting Stephen, giving Donald a chance to nuzzle his brother before he put him protectively into the sling and stood. 

Phillip watched with a soft, but tired, smile on his face. Sleep hadn't exactly been easy for him since they got home. It was filled with bad dreams, and uneasy feelings in the pit of his stomach when he woke up. Still, he loved the way Donald would try to snuggle with Stephen, and the way Stephen's little fists would curl into his brother's fur and just hang on for dear life when he could. 

He waited until Clinton was standing upright before he let Maria go so she and Donald could run on ahead. Looking up to smile at Clinton, Phillip settled himself down into the pillows. "Have fun. I will be here when you get back." 

Clinton nodded. "Love," he said simply, smiling soft before turning to follow the Wolfborn Pups, his Manborn Pup snuggled close to his chest as he opened the door to let them go tearing off.


	24. Chapter 24

**True to his word,** Anthony waited outside in the grass for his daughter and packmate to return. Laying out in a patch of sun, in his wolf form, his tail thumped the ground gently when he finally sensed their arrival. He was pounced a second later by Maria, and then by the slightly smaller Donald. With a 'Whuff!' and playful growl, Anthony righted himself and was fully intent on taking chase after them, until he spotted Clinton still in his human form, and that silly sheet thing hanging from him. No doubt holding that funny smelling Manborn pup.

Clinton had even on a pair of trousers, as though they would help him to remember to maintain this form. He had one arm around the bundle wrapped against him as he walked after the pups, confident that his four legged son wouldn't go from his sight and force him into a chase. The soft smile Clinton had for his Manborn Pup faded, as he looked up at the black Wolf, mouth flattening to a grim line as he met his gaze with a stubborn streak a mile wide.

Anthony slowly approached and stood upright, unfolding himself into his human body. He peeked in at the very pink, and very much furless, baby - before looking back up to Clinton. "It'd be more fun out here playing if you shifted, you know?"

Keeping a protective hand on Stephen, Clinton didn't budge, didn't bare his throat. "Plenty of fun to be had on two feet - and Stephen deserves time outside."

"But you can't run with him like that." It was a simple and pretty obvious statement, but Anthony felt it needed to be said anyway.

"I can walk, and Donald knows not to go far from me," he replied evenly.

Giving a shrug, Anthony sighed and turned to start back for the pups. "Okay...." He shifted then, tail wagging a mile a minute as he pounced after the two Wolfborn and started up a game of tag with them. It was a good way to get them used to running and chasing so that, when they were a bit older, they could start going on hunts with him and the others.

Clinton watched, walking along the edge, keeping close without being too close, to let them play without worrying about tripping him up. Finally he found a patch of soft shade and sat down there, shifting Stephen to hold him so he could watch as well.

Stephen watched the Wolves play for a little while, a blur of movement to him, before he snuggled himself in against his Father's chest and began drifting off.

Out on the grass, Anthony nipped at hocks and tails, helping the little ones to get better on their feet when it came to running, turning, and stopping quickly. _It should be Clinton out here teaching Donald,_ He thought to himself as he nosed at Donald's side and playfully tipped him over.

Donald yipped and wagged his tail, tumbling bum over nose before yipping and capering back over to where Clinton and Stephen were, trying to climb up into the sling with his tiny big brother.

The movement, along with the sharpness of his brother's nails scratching across his pudgy arm had Stephen waking with a start and shrill cry of surprise.

In an instant, Anthony was there, picking Donald up by his nape and carrying him away from Stephen's cries and harmless flailing. His black fur was raised just slightly and a low, quiet growl vibrated through him as he carried the youngest wolf pup further away.

Clint's growl from his Man's throat was almost as menacing as it would have been had he been Wolf shaped. "Put my son down," he snarled.

Anthony put Donald back down on the grass, though he continued to stay low, fur still raised down his back, as Stephen continued to cry. The cries growing louder by the second, and it seemed the sky rumbled its own anger at the sound.

Clinton gently shushed his Manborn child as he beckoned Donald to come back. It wouldn't be the first, or last, time that he'd startled his elder brother, but experience said that being taken away entirely wasn't good for either of them. The first week was a nightmare for all involved back in the South. He didn't sit until Donald was close, and he gently crooked him in one arm, keeping his little paws away from his more fragile brother as Donald licked and snuffled at Stephen's cheeks in attempt to comfort, a tingle of shared twin magic flaring briefly between the twins as Clinton gently rocked them both, calmed now, fully aware of where Anthony was the entire time.

It wasn't much more than a minute or so after Stephen had started to cry that Pepper and Bruce both came tearing around the side of the Keep. Pepper in her Wolf form, Bruce in his human. They drew up short when it was obvious that there was a deep tension in the air between Clinton and Anthony, the two pups cradled protectively against Clinton's chest.

Slowly, Bruce edged closer to Clinton while Pepper went toward Anthony.

"Clinton?" Bruce asked softly, "Is everything okay? We heard a cry."

"Donald woke Stephen, he's fine," Clinton said as the Pups were now nuzzled both in and out of the sling. He really needed to find a way for them to snuggle outside their Den.

Bruce glanced back to his own Mate and Pup. Maria was already over the fuss that Stephen made and was pouncing happily at Pepper's paws and around to swat at her tail. Anthony on the other hand, stood stock still for a moment longer before finally lifting his chin and straightening his posture, turning to saunter off and leave Clinton and his Pups be.

Clinton kept his chin tucked as he watched him go, making no move to call to him, very much standing on the inside as he sat in the grass with his Pups.

Frowning, Bruce looked back to Clinton and tilted his head. "Are your Pups okay?" He asked, his voice calm and concerned, gentle and non-threatening.

Clinton didn't answer until Anthony was out of sight, only then looking up at Bruce. He reminded himself that he was Manborn, and certainly shouldn't be considered too much of a threat, not without reason. "Yes. Donald's claws are still Newpup sharp, but he only wants to stay with his elder littermate. Stephen needs more sleep, still, and startles."

Bruce nodded in understanding. While he didn't have much experience with children in general, he still had more than his Wolfborn Mate. "I have a file that I use to round down Ria's nails. It doesn't hurt them, it more tickles than anything else. I'll find it and bring it to you and Phillip to use for Donald, if you'd like?"

"Yes," Clinton nodded his thanks. "We'll go back to our Den, now."

Nodding, Bruce took a step back, giving Clinton room to stand. "I will bring it by in a little while."

Clinton nodded again, rising to his feet with the same feral grace he did anything, keeping his Pups close as he turned and walked back to the Keep.

"And, Clinton?" Bruce called after him. "I will speak with Anthony tonight. Try to get him to use the Man side of his brain."

He paused, shoulders tight, then turned a little, looking at him. "All of us, or none of us, Bruce. We can go back to the house and Forge if Stephen isn't welcome. He is my Firstborn, I won't let him be ignored and shoved aside because he is Man shaped."

Bruce nodded once in understanding. "I know, Clinton. I'll speak with Anthony." It was a promise. Of course, he could very well lead off with literally kicking his Mate on the ass to get his attention, and then remind him that he had just as much chance of having a Manborn Pup as he did a Wolfborn. It was definitely something that Anthony needed reminding of.

Clinton softened a little. At least if he lost another pack, one member would still accept him as friend. "Thank you," he said softly, turning and retreating indoors as he had before.

 **Back in their den** , Phillip had only just finally started drifting off to sleep when Clinton returned with their Pups in tow. He cracked open one eye to watch his Mate. "...that wasn't very long."

"They're asleep now," Clinton said, moving to curl them together in Stephen's basket. "I'll take care of them, you rest."

Phillip waited until the boys were curled together in the basket before lazily reaching a hand out for Clinton. "Something's wrong?"

Clinton shook his head, moving to curl up with him, keeping to his Manshape for now. "If you feel uncomfortable, we can go back to your first home."

That took Phillip by surprise. He blinked quickly and shifted around on the pillows so he could look at Clinton a bit better. "What...? I... but this is your home. Your pack is here. I don't---"

" _You_ are most important. Our Pups. If you feel unsafe, or uncomfortable, we go. South, or to your first home, or somewhere else."

"Clinton, what happened outside?"

Clinton growled a little. "Donald startled Stephen, and Anthony took him."

Fear rose up in Phillip's stomach, his heart suddenly nearly bursting out of his chest as he fought back the urge to quickly check over both his boys. "Took... St-Stephen?"

"Donald," Clinton said. "I got him back. Bruce said he will speak with him and has something to help unsharp his claws. I will keep our family safe," he promised. "If I have to challenge the Alpha, I will. And I will win."

Phillip swallowed thickly and shook his head, nestling himself in against Clinton's bare chest. "I don't want you to fight anyone. I don't..." Phillip trailed off, shaking his head again as emotions rose up in his throat. "Don't fight anyone."

Clinton sighed and nuzzled him, making no vow of peace. He would do whatever he had to to secure his family in the Pack - or he would remove them and take them to build a new one.

Nosing against Clinton's chest, Phillip sighed heavily and just pressed in close. He should try to get some sleep, especially while their sons were napping, but now his mind was running in circles again and showed no signs of slowing down.

Instead, he brought himself up, nosed at Clinton's chin and leaned in for a kiss. It'd been too long since they'd just laid together kissing.

Clinton returned the kiss, soft, gentle. Sharing breath, and loving, and possessive, and protective.

Phillip brought his hand up to rub against Clinton's cheek and neck, thumbing at his ear gently. "I love you," He murmured, nudging their noses together lightly. "I don't want you to get hurt again. Not because of me."

"I would be remade a hundred times over, if it meant I was able to keep you safe."

Sighing again, Phillip wiggled back down his Mate's body until his head was resting on that beautiful, broad chest. Clinton being remade wasn't something he liked thinking about.

Clinton tucked his arm around Phillip so he could hold him close, even while keeping a hand on their boys, nuzzling and kissing the smith's hair. "Love."

"Love you," Phillip whispered back, slowly willing his brain to stop running and let him get a little sleep.

Clinton started humming gently, that old song he hummed - years ago for himself, months ago for Phillip - nuzzling in and solidly there for him. Choosing him, over all else, once more.

*** * ***

**In the days that followed,** Anthony made himself fairly scarce. He spent more time in his own laboratory or out with his own Pup, taking her on mini adventures around the land, though any time she would make a run for Clinton and Phillip's den to play with Donald, Anthony would keep a watchful eye from the shadows.

Clinton would only ever leave the door open enough for Maria to come in, shifting when she was there to play with the two pups, teaching Donald the way he had litters before him, letting Maria come in close and showing her how to be gentle with Stephen. Donald was ever present as a buffer with them, and sometimes tumbled with Maria as Clinton watched in Man Shape while Phillip slept more and more.

Phillip's sleeping worried Clinton. He didn't smell sick, and no amount of magic touch seemed to heal him - so different from the poison he'd healed him from before. It upset him, it made him more wary.

While Phillip was nursing Stephen, Clinton gently skulked from the Den to watch Maria show Donald some more of the Keep, never out of reach, playful and wary all at once.

Anthony was already outside, wandering the grounds and doing basic checks to make sure no one who wasn't supposed to be there had been. When he caught sight of his daughter, he whuffed happily and went trotting towards her and young Donald. The Pup was getting better on his feet, that was for certain. Though, it would still be a few more weeks yet before he would be able to go along for a hunt, and a few months before he would be able to do more than just watch.

The silver white Pup capered along, tumbling with Maria as his brown father followed, ears perked and head raised when he caught sight of the larger black Wolf.

Sensing Clinton nearby, Anthony drew up short and raised his own head, sniffing at the air as he turned to look to the brown Wolf. His stance seemed to relax a bit as he saw Clinton in his Wolf form, and without the Manborn Pup. Sneezing once, he turned his attention back to the Wolfborn pups and lowered his front half, rear end upright and tag wagging to try and get them to play and chase.

Clinton wasn't sure how to read the relaxation. Was it the comfort of Pack, or something less kind? He chose to let it lie at the back of his mind as he nosed his Donald away from Maria to give his ears a quick wash.

Anthony pounced and played with Maria, barking in playful wrestling as she bounced around and tumbled about. For the most part, he did his best to simply ignore Clinton and Donald. It wasn't until he caught a scent on the breeze that he drew up short and turned his attention towards the Keep, standing completely still as he stared over Clinton.

Phillip stood in the doorway, Stephen in his arms, holding him close and protectively. He stared out across the grassy yard at Anthony, shifting from foot to foot and head ducked, shoulders hunched nearly to his ears.

Clinton yipped at Phillip, happy to see his Mate and Firstborn, nosing at Donald to get his attention. The silver Pup yipped and tumble-ran over to the rest of his family.

Clinton turned back to see Anthony's attention, and he shifted, straightening his legs and lifting his tail, lifting his head without baring his throat.

The hair on Anthony's back raised and bristled, his posturing sending off clear messages that he was on high alert and not at all comfortable.

If it were possible to hunch in on himself any more than he already was, Phillip would have. Suddenly, he felt like he was under Chisholm's harsh glares and demands again. Swallowing thickly, he glanced to Clinton, then Anthony again, and slowly backed toward the door, fully intent to retreat back inside to their den once more.

Clinton growled softly, sending the clear message that Anthony's judgement was being challenged

Phillip shot a quick glance to Clinton, shaking his head. "No, Clinton, it... it's okay. I didn't mean to interrupt. I--" He paused, swallowing thickly and looked back to Anthony, who'd turned his attention from Phillip and Stephen to Clinton. "Please don't get into a fight because of us...." His voice was a quiet, desperate plea, barely loud enough to be caught on the wind.

Clinton couldn't afford to stop watching Anthony, only wagging his tail once to show Phillip he'd heard. He wouldn't start it.

He'd damn well finish it, if he had to, though.

Sensing the tension and unease between the two adults, and the fear coming off the Man, Maria whimpered at her father's paws, nosing at his leg gently before starting off towards Donald, who was hiding behind Phillip's legs.

At Maria's retreat, Anthony gave a snarl before springing into action to scoop her up and pull her away from the trio at the door.

Phillip gasped in surprise, taking a quick step back at just the sight of the large black Wolf suddenly leaping forward. At his feet, Donald yelped as his tail was accidentally stepped on by his father's foot. Confusion and fear filled the air in an instant.

The second the black Wolf lunged, Clinton's patience with their stand off ended. He leaped to defend his Mate, getting in the way and knocking Anthony off course, placing himself between them and snarling, head low, hackles raised.

Maria barked out in surprise and fear, tumbling nose over tail towards Donald to hide with him in the shadows.

Anthony wasted no time in getting to his feet and lunging towards Clinton. He was intent on fighting to make a point, to put Clinton back in line. Not to kill. But if that was what it was going to come down to, then he would fight to the bloody end.

Donald, younger as he was, tumbled with Maria to hide behind Phillip, half on top of her, almost as if to protect her, giving one little Yelp-cry.

Clinton twisted and snapped at Anthony's shoulder, ever putting himself between them, not willing to let him near his Mate and Pups. He balked at his Omega pack status and fought with protective anger and cunning, shoving back the larger Wolf as best he could.

Anthony rose up on his hind legs, teeth bared and front paws curled to strike down across Clinton's head. If a few zaps of magic coursed through him to snap at Clinton's sides, then, well, it was self-defense. Really.

The Omega yelped, twisting away, backing up to snarl, and puffing up to make himself big as he could Straight legged, tail up, before he leaped back against Anthony, using his new-learned trick to return in kind. Fighting as a Wolf held more dangers than that of a wolf - but the point was the same.

Dominance.

At the doorway, Phillip felt his panic squeezing around his chest, stealing the breath away from him. Both Wolves were about the same size, Anthony just slightly bigger, and it was terrifying to watch them go at each other... because of _him_! The last time Clinton had been in a fight, it'd been because of him, too. In his arms, sensing his father's fear, Stephen shifted and squirmed, crying out as the Wolves continued to fight and tear at each other, thunder rumbling in the clear sky.

Stephen's crying only served to egg Anthony on, and when he saw Maria cowering behind Phillip, he snarled fiercely before leaping at Clinton to topple him over.

Clinton snarled, the fight becoming more vicious. He rolled with it, coming up to clamp his jaws down on Tony's shoulder, kicking at him with his hind claws.

Anthony howled out in pain and dropped down into a roll to try and throw Clinton off him, reaching out with his magic to deliver a mighty zap to the center of Clinton's chest. Anthony hadn't brought his teeth down upon Clinton yet, but that would soon change if the younger Wolf didn't give up soon. Especially if Clinton laid teeth on him again.

Clinton cried out in pain, grimly holding on. He'd been unmade, watched the flesh cut away from his body, felt as it was reformed, brief moments of blessed darkness before the pain and knowledge of what was being done - why it was being done - began to overwhelm him once more. He would not fall to this, not when his Pups and Mate were in danger.

Anthony whipped his body to the side again with force, snarling out in extreme pain as he felt the chunk of skin and fur Clinton had hold of tear as he was suddenly free of the Omega Wolf’s jaws. Shoulder throbbing, Anthony lunged at Clinton, his own jaw clamping down hard on the side of Clinton's neck.

The younger Wolf yelped, a high pained sound, struggling and twisting to try and break free, kicking at Anthony with all fours, snarling in anger and fear, magic sparking with each hit.

"STOP!" Phillip hollered, his voice breaking as he tried to get their attention. "STOP! NO! LET HIM GO!! ANTHONY! LET HIM GO!!" His entire body was trembling, terror making his own magic sizzle under his skin. He clung to Stephen tighter in an attempt not to drop him, which only served to make Stephen cry louder because he was being squished.

All around them the air sparked with magic. Anthony ignored Phillip's pleas as he struggled to get the young Wolf down on the ground and to submit. He snarled, shaking his head to shake Clinton about like a rag doll.

Clinton refused to submit. Submitting would leave his Mate and Firstborn to who KNEW what. He snarled, yelping at each shake, struggling to get the upper paw back.

Donald was a trembling ball of silver white fur, standing over Maria, barking at the fight. At the magic, the pure fear in his bearer's voice, he leaped out with a high pitched howl.

The moment all four legs touched the ground - clean and straight, tail high - lightning struck beside the fighting wolves.

Donald's fur stood entirely on end, as though he were a part of the strike he'd called down instinctively in his own protective fear.

Anthony released Clinton immediately after the lightning nearly singed his tail. Yelping in surprise, he jumped back, spinning around to find out where that had come from. It was SUNNY! How? _Where_ did the lightning come from?

Clinton panted, struggling to get back on his feet, keeping an eye on Anthony and watching for an opening.... If he could just get his feet under him.

Donald yip-growled, pale magic crackling. Another jump against the ground, a second lighting strike, not close enough to hurt, but enough for the thunder to set ears ringing.

"N-no... no, please, Clinton. Please? Just... stay still. Let me... I just..." Phillip took a deep breath, holding Stephen to his chest with one hand as he rushed to his Mate’s side and reached the other out to place it on Clinton's neck. It wasn't at all that long ago that he'd had to try and help heal Clinton's fight wounds. His hand shook and tears blurred his vision as he tried to focus.

Maria, following in her young "cousin’s” lead, came forward to yip-yelp at the adults, a low growl of her own filling the air as clouds rolled in over the trees, a shower of rain starting to fall across the grounds.

Startled by this, Anthony's ears tilted back, head quirked to one side and tail down. Not between his legs, but just down. The little Wolfborn seemed to have more magic than he'd thought they would.

There was silence in the rain as Stephen gulped a breath, thunder rumbling in the clouds with each cry. Lightning did not strike again in the stand off, Donald still standing ready, barely trembling as he watched his bearer and his sire.

Clinton panted, whining as Phillip pressed his hand against his bloodied fur, afraid to take his gaze off the Alpha - too weak at the moment to do anything more than to softly growl in warning. The rain fell down upon them all, washing his blood to the earth.

Phillip blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, even more so now that it was raining and they could be hidden. He tried to calm Stephen, keep him covered so he didn't get wet, even while trying to help Clinton. His own magic was weak compared to Clinton's but he fought to bring it forward and help.

Had to calm his little one down, had to help Clinton, had to heal the wound in his neck before he bled out - or before anything else happened. This was his fault. He had to fix this. Had to make things alright.

His side still bleeding, the wound bright red and bare at his shoulder, Anthony hobbled towards the two Wolfborn Pups and stopped just short of them. Donald's fur no longer stuck up in all directions like a dandelion gone to seed, instead he looked soggy and rather adorable. As did Maria, who still was yipping at him as forcefully as she could. He glanced back to where Clinton, Phillip and Stephen sat, gave a soft snuff, and turned, picking Maria up by her scruff to limp and hobble back into the Keep to lick his wounds and leave the others to their fates.

Donald whimpered once, looking at his playmate Maria in a sad puppy way, before turning and going to his family, nosing at his sire, familial magic sparking to help his bearer in the healing of the downed Wolf.

Upset at himself more than anything else, Phillip didn't understand what Donald was trying to do. He shook his head and, with bloodied and shaking hand, scooped the pup up and set him aside. "No, D-Donald, don't... just... stay there. I... you don't..." Words were useless, he couldn't get them out of his mouth in any decent order. He turned, putting his hand back on Clinton's neck and just opened himself up, full force, to send his magic to his Mate and heal him. "Please... please, Clinton... please."

Whimpering, not to be deterred, Donald moved to his bearer instead, pressing his nose to the bare skin at Phillip's ankle, giving him the magic to pass along instead, trembling and open to giving.

Stephen grasped onto Phillip's finger as he was shushed, the thunder rolling more intermittently as he began to calm, a small tingle coming from him as well, as the family magic worked as it willed.

Magic is a wily thing, and its will is its own. No matter what you wish for it to do, when you give Magic the lead, things can go in ways unexpected.

The tears finally started to roll down Phillip's cheeks as his magic coursed through to Clinton, trying to bring the wound back together, to draw out anything that could cause him to grow ill down the line.

Yet, the brown Wolf lay still.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Clinton had breath once more,** after nearly too long without, and whined; those whines faded as his family healed him, vein and skin knit together - his breath coming more easily each passing minute. He turned his head and licked first Phillip's hand, then the edge of Stephen's cheek, then Donald's snout, pushing himself to get his legs up under him.

It was time to leave.

Phillip dropped back, holding Stephen close, though his grasp was just a bit looser than it had been before. He was drained, physically, emotionally, and magically. The only thing he wanted to do at that point was find the nearest, deepest, and darkest hole to curl up in and sob.

Stephen's cries slowly faded away, the thunder going with them, even as the rain continued to fall. He snuffled and huffed, squirming against Phillip and looking to his sire with tears shining in his own eyes, not understanding why everyone was upset and hurting.

Getting to his feet, Clinton licked Phillip's cheek before nosing him softly. He picked Donald up by the scruff and waited for his Mate to find his feet. The hay back at the forge would be soft, and the nights were still warm. It was a safe place to rest before a journey.

Watching as Clinton came to his feet at last and carried Donald, Phillip forced himself to stand. He shifted Stephen as best he could in order to lift his shirt and tuck the infant against his bare chest, hoping the fabric of his shirt would keep his son at least a little dry, and the warmth of his skin would keep him warm. Phillip sniffled as he turned, ready to go back into the Keep to their den, not realizing that wasn't where Clinton intended on going.

Clinton made a low groaning sound, moving to gently push Phillip away from the Keep. Back toward the Forge.

Phillip frowned as he looked down to Clinton, then off in the direction he was being nudged off towards. The only thing that way was his old forge and old home. But it was through the woods and across a stream. "Clinton...I..." Phillip trailed off. No, if Clinton needed to go somewhere else, then he'd follow. No matter how much he just wanted to hide in their den.

The Wolf whined, looking sorrowfully up at his Mate. He wanted to assure him that he would make them a new den, a safer one, but for now they would need to go to their first. He gave Phillip another gentle nudge. They had more than enough time of light left to go there three times over.

"What about my mother?" Phillip finally quietly asked.

Clinton paused. Yes, of course. Mother. He gently set Donald down on Phillip's foot with a soft whuff to stay together. He would fetch Mother. He slinked into the shadows, choosing a back way into the Keep; ears down, tail low, everything low and stealthy.

 **Jocelyn had heard** the fight outside, who _hadn't_ heard it? So when Clinton came slinking into the den, and into her off-chamber, she sighed heavily. Shaking her head, she moved to stand, collecting a small armful of blankets. "I have the feeling I know why you're here, Clinton," she spoke softly as she made her way to Clinton and Phillip's chamber. "I don't know what happened, but give me a moment to collect some things."

Clinton trusted her to get was important, only following to nose Donald and Stephen's first blanket into the basket Jarvis had given him, telling him it was Phillip's. He nosed the basket toward her.

She nodded, carefully setting the blankets in her arms into the basket. "Yes, we'll take that. Don't worry." Draping her shawl around her shoulders, and with basket in hand, she nodded that she was ready to go.

Clinton thought a moment, then shifted, pulling on pants and a shirt to hide his newest scar, reaching for his bow and quiver, putting it at his belt. They may need to travel as Men, at least until they knew for sure they were safe. He picked up a few more of her and Phillip's things, bundling them in a blanket he tied to his back, and opened the door for her, leading her down back stairs and out to where Phillip waited.

 **Outside the rain** was finally beginning to taper off into a gentle sprinkle, though the damage was already done. Phillip stood soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his head and arms pulled into his shirt, two squirming lumps jostling the soggy fabric. He looked over when Clinton and Jocelyn came into sight, and swallowed thickly. Though Clinton had a shirt on, Phillip still could see the edge of the vicious scar where Anthony had taken hold of his throat.

Phillip's stomach threatened to empty itself.

Clinton said nothing as he came forward, kissing Phillip's cheek and taking one of the blankets from Mother to wrap around his Mate and Pups. He put a hand on Phillip's back and gently led him away, back to where they began. It would be a good place to begin from once they had the supplies for a proper journey.

Phillip leaned into Clinton's side and glanced back at his mother, then the Keep. Cold dread settled in his stomach to combine with the sadness that had already been there since their return. With a quiet whimper, he ducked his head and let himself be led back to the place he'd first met Clinton.

 **The small family's journey** was silent, mournful, as they all felt their loss. Clinton had no intention to return to the keep, and every intention to leave the Pack that had taken him in when he was Lone. He could not trust them, not when their Alpha had made a rush on Phillip and Stephen after giving them an icy shoulder from the time they'd returned. He wasn't sure they could stay in the area, either.

They couldn't leave immediately, not with Newpups - they would need supplies to travel. It shouldn't take them long, Clinton would find wherever the left over Silver had gone and trade it for supplies, hopefully enough to get far before needing to make new plans to either go farther, or settle. Those were thoughts for the morrow. For now, Clinton was focused on getting them back to the small home, bring in the dry hay still in the forge's loft, and bed everyone down together for a final rest.

With the forge finally in sight, Phillip's shoulders slumped all the more. He waited to see where Clinton would usher them to, the forge itself or the house, before he carefully put Donald back on the ground and continued to hold Stephen close. "I'm sorry," he whispered, brushing his lips across Stephen's forehead. "I'm so sorry..."

It was tempting to stay in the loft, but the weather, and other things, would be better kept out in the house, where there was a door, and shut windows.

Clinton readied Mother's room, or what once was, for the five of them - no furniture left, as it had all been moved to the keep. He carried the hay over from the forge, building two large 'beds' for them all.

While he worked, Donald lay at Phillip's feet, resting close, offering what comfort his little self could, entirely instinctive to _help_.

Phillip reached down to brush his fingers across Donald's little head, stroking over his ears and down his neck. When he was able to, he gently lowered Stephen down into the basket and settled Donald in with him. "Stay there with your brother," Phillip murmured softly, covering them both with their first blanket.

Donald wagged his tail once and snuffled into his brother, curling up and closing his eyes only once chubby fists were grasping his fur.

Phillip stared down at the pair, a sad smile on his face. He ran his hand down Donald's fur, then over Stephen's head, before glancing back to Clinton and Jocelyn. With his mother busy opening windows to air the home out, and Clinton figuring out bedding, Phillip slipped silently out of the room and then the home to slink off for the forge. The most familiar and comforting place he could think of.

 **Clinton didn't say much** to Mother as they fixed up the home, as he worked with the hay straw and blankets so they could all stay together, making sure it would be comfortable for Man shape just as much as Wolf. His hands did not tremble, but his face was drawn - not with sickness of the body, but the grim sorrow of the heart.

Jocelyn was no fool, and she was certainly not blind. She'd seen the scar that was on Clinton's neck and how defeated both her son and Clinton appeared. It didn't take much to realize that something was wrong, there had to be, or they wouldn’t be here.

As she skirted past the basket where Stephen and Donald lay sleeping, she finally spoke. "Clinton? What happened at Starke Keep?"

He paused, head down. Were he in his base form, his tail would be neatly tucked between his ankles. Taking a breath, then another, he looked up at her.

"Alpha attacked my Mate and Pups. I fought him. He won. We are no longer a part of his Pack." He looked out the window, remembering climbing through for so many nights, dreaming that this was what a mother might be like, someone like Jocelyn.

"The wilds here are too small for two packs. We need to find another and be invited to join - or to find our own land for the Pack we make of ourselves." He sighed and looked back to her, his head ducked. "I'm sorry I failed you all."

Stepping up to his side, Jocelyn reached up to run his hand down the back of Clinton's head soothingly. "You didn't fail anyone, Clinton," she said, shaking her head. "You were defending what was yours, trying to keep them safe. That's what's important. And you know that Phillip would follow you wherever you decide to take us."

"I promised Phillip I would win, if something like this happened... and I didn't. I wasn't strong enough to win."

"I don't believe that's true. And I'm sure Phillip doesn't either."

Clinton raised his head and glanced about, noting that Phillip wasn't present. "I don't know about that, Mother. Thank you for believing in me." He glanced back at her. "Will it take long to get the supplies we need to travel?" he asked. "Food and things? I can hunt for us nightly, if that helps."

"I think," Jocelyn looked around the room, giving a small sigh, "that it should only take a day or so to gather whatever we might need. I will go into town in the morning and see what I can find as far as provisions go. Bread and such."

"Thank you, Mother." He leaned to kiss her cheek before backing away. "I need to find Phillip."

Kissing his cheek in return, she nodded. "I will go get the kitchen cleaned and ready for supper." With that, she slipped from the room, leaving the door open to hear in case her grandsons happened to wake up while she was out of the room.

"Will two rabbits be enough?" he called softly. He could hunt once he was sure Phillip was alright.

"That should be fine, dear."

Clinton nodded and followed his nose, the scent faint to his dulled senses, it took him a moment to go to the forge and look for him there. "Phillip?"

 **Phillip sat huddled** in the shop, wedged between an outside wall and the side of the stone furnace, hidden from sight of the door. His knees drawn up to his chest and arms around his legs, his body shook as he cried. Deep, painful sobs.

Clinton rushed to him, stopping barely a foot away, crouching before him. "Phillip?" he asked, heart breaking for him as he edged closer.

A painful cough-sob rattled from Phillip as he kept his face buried in his knees. "I'm sorry..." He cried, voice trembling and muffled.

"Why?" he asked, finally reaching him, holding him close and pressing his mouth to his hair, his magic trying to heal the sorrow.

"It's my fault!" The words nearly choked him as he tried to get them out, but once he had, it was like a dam had been broken. "It's all my fault! Every time you've been hurt, it's been because of me! And... and there's something wrong with me. You... you should have had two r-real pups, but... but inst-stead I c-could only give you one and one human and we-we're the reason Anthony stayed away and fought and... and... and it's all my fault! And I'm sorry! I... I'm sorry..."

Clinton held him fierce and tight. "No," he said simply and firmly. It was his way. "There is _nothing_ wrong with you. There is _nothing_ wrong with Stephen. Anthony was _wrong_. I should be apologising to _you_ , Phillip. I failed you, failed the Pups, failed Mother. That is on me, not you."

Phillip shook his head fiercely. "You got hurt because of _me_!" He sobbed, voice pitching higher. "You nearly _died_ because of me! Because of the arrows _I_ made!! Then you... you fought Obadiah because of _me_! Got hurt from fighting him! And... and n-now... now Anthony! He nearly tore your throat out because of me! Because he... he didn't want Maria an-anywhere near me or Stephen! Because we're wrong! Because I couldn't... he..." Phillip swallowed thickly and shook his head. "He's not going to be a-accepted because he's d-different. Wh-what if he just stays human? He'd never be able to do what...he wouldn't..."

"Arrows I sharpened. Obadiah never liked me. I would have killed Anthony if I could have - he wasn't the only one fighting harshly. There is _nothing_ wrong with Stephen. If he never shifts, there is still nothing wrong with him. He is not _wrong_. Neither of you are wrong. You are both _mine_."

As much as he wanted to think that was true, Phillip knew deep down that Clinton would have never been (...alright, fine, had less of a chance of being) shot with those arrows if he hadn't made so many for Chisholm. If he hadn't been the reason Clinton had run off in the first place and been where Chisholm could find him and hurt him. As for Obadiah, he'd left them alone up until the day Phillip had first changed. And Anthony? Well, Phillip had seen the way Anthony had tensed whenever he and Stephen were near, seen the way he'd avoided them at all costs and tried to only interact with Donald, not Stephen. No. This was all his fault.

Clinton continued to hold him tight and close, sharing his magic, unsure what to do without poisoning to blame for poor emotion. To do with emotion. He rocked Phillip, kissing his hair. "We're safe now." That was true enough. "We will go somewhere safer, soon. No one will hurt us."

The sobs continued to shake out of Phillip as he curled himself in against Clinton and pressed his face into his Mate's chest. He was beyond exhausted and, with his magic mostly gone towards healing Clinton, his whole body felt weak and fragile. He just wanted to cry, and be held, and hold his sons. Preferably forever.

"I have you. You're mine. We're safe," he said, holding Phillip and sharing his magic, not willing to bring him back to the house until he was sure he was calm. The Pups were safe with Mother. Phillip needed him now.

Phillip stayed pressed to Clinton, sobbing himself hoarse, before the exhaustion took hold and pulled him down into the dark of dreamless sleep.

Clinton continued to rock him gently before standing, lifting him easily and keeping him cuddled close, carrying him back to the house so he could rest in the soft of the 'beds', Pups close at hand. He kicked the door gently to knock for Mother.

 **It was only** a matter of a few moments before the door opened and Jocelyn stared at the pair. "Oh Phillip..." she sighed softly, reaching to smooth down his flyaway hair as he was taken past her. "I'll fix up some broth for him."

Clinton gently lay him on the blankets beside the boys, putting one over him. "I'll get you the rabbits now," he said, pulling off the shirt and trousers so he could shift more easily.

Jocelyn nodded, taking the shirt from Clinton, not at all phased by the nudity. She was a grown woman and a mother of a son, after all. Folding the shirt carefully, she placed it near Phillip's head so that he had Clinton's scent near him while he slept. "That'll be fine, thank you."

He gave her a soft, sad smile and shifted, nosing through the door before tugging it shut with his teeth, then bounding into the woods after the rabbits he knew were there. He'd take only two, that would be enough for today and tomorrow, especially if Mother was making stew.

 

*** * ***

**Bruce made his way into the Keep** , following the sounds of Maria’s whimpers and yips. He’d been in the village, and it was clear when he returned that something wasn’t right. The air was heavy and tense, and he’d seen the localized storm from the road when he’d been on his way home. By the time he arrived, the rain had trickled off to a sprinkle and the thunder had ceased entirely.

Jarvis had met him at the door, as he did with anyone approaching, and told him of the fight between Clinton and Anthony that resulted in Clinton taking his part of the pack and leaving. He’d figured something like this was going to happen eventually, given the way Anthony had been treating Phillip and Stephen especially. Bruce just wished it hadn’t happened. Wished that Anthony had gotten over whatever was eating his tail and treated the two with the same welcoming arms he’d done when Phillip and his mother had come to live with them.

He made his way into their den, finding Maria curled up in a corner on her pillows, whining pathetically and looking from one parent to the other. A heavy sigh escaped him.

“It’s alright, Ria,” He soothed, stepping up to her to run his hand soothingly down her head and back. “I’m here. I’ll take care of him. You’re okay.”

Maria whined softly, her tail thumping softly against the pillow as she lapped at Bruce’s hand.

From the nest of larger pillows, Anthony groaned and half-growled, making it known he was well aware of his Mate’s presence and he was in too much pain at the moment to care about anything else. Bruce dropped a kiss to Maria’s head before he moved to stand over the pillows, arms folded over his chest and a slightly amused quirk to his brow. The gash in Anthony’s side was still bright red and raw, slowly knitting itself back together.

“Well,” started Bruce, “Do you feel better now?”

Anthony growled low in his throat, though never lifted his eyes to meet Bruce’s.

“Now now, I don’t want to hear that tone from you. You’re the one who decided fighting Clinton was a good idea. You’re the one who is going to have to deal with the consequences.”

Again, a growl and grumble was the only reply he got.

Bruce sighed heavily and lowered himself down onto the pillows, the large black Wolf’s body coiled so his nose was under his tail. Dark brown eyes opened to stare at him, without even a hint of remorse. He’d won the fight, after all. Maybe not entirely fairly, but he’d still won. Clinton had gone down and ultimately left, and that was the important part.

A frown creased Bruce’s face as he shook his head, making no attempt to reach out to heal the wound for his Mate. “You know, it’s funny how you’ve forgotten that my base form is human. Which meant our daughter had a fifty-fifty chance of being born human, too. We discussed the possibility of that before she was born, remember?”

Anthony stayed silent, though his eyes did glance away. He wasn’t about to admit that Bruce was right.

That was fine. Bruce knew that Anthony knew he was. Admitting it or not.

“There was no reason for you to treat Phillip or Stephen the way you did. They did nothing wrong, and Stephen is a healthy child,” Bruce paused as Anthony lifted his head and grumbled low in his throat, ears slightly pinned back. “Oh fine, yes, he’s maybe a bit of a ‘runt’, but in Phillip and mine’s culture that doesn’t mean anything. He’s small, yes, but he’s healthy. He couldn’t help the fact he was Manborn. No more than Ria could help she wasn’t. We have no control over how we’re born, or what we’re born as. You know this, I know you do.”

A huff and whuff escaped Anthony as he put his head back down on his paws, covering his nose with his tail once more and closing his eyes.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Anthony. The more you do, the longer Ria and I sleep back in my lab in the village.”

That got a response from Anthony. The black Wolf lifted his head and lifted his upper body so his snout was raised and he could look Bruce in the eye. Bruce tilted his own chin back just slightly, defiantly.

“Oh, we’re going back into the village tonight, Anthony. Tonight _and_ tomorrow night. You need to heal and to think about what you’ve done. How you ran off more than half of your own pack. A pack that was already small to begin with. Think about how hard it’s going to be for them on their own, now. Two pups, Clinton the only Wolf to hunt and protect Phillip and their Pups and Phillip’s mother.” Bruce let the words sink in, or at least, he hoped they were sinking in. “There are still Hunters out there, Anthony. Hunters who won’t care one way or the other if they kill Manborn or Wolfborn if they find them together.”

Bruce stood and moved to scoop Maria up off her pillows and held her close as he turned his attention back to Anthony. “I hope you’re prepared to live with yourself if anything happens to them.”

He turned towards the door, his Pup huddled close to his chest. “We’ll see you in a couple of days. Try not to get yourself into any more trouble, will you?”

As the door to the den shut behind him, Bruce dipped his head to kiss Maria’s, and sighed. The chances of Anthony going out looking for Clinton and his family were fairly slim, the damned Wolf had too much stupid pride – surprising, given that he is an animal at his truest form. Which meant, providing he could convince Anthony to let them return, Bruce would be the one having to go out to find them. He just hoped they wouldn’t be too late, and that Clinton hadn’t taken them too far by then.


	26. Chapter 26

**It didn't take long** to gather what was needed. Clinton dug up the silver from beneath the long cold forge, and got a horse -from a town over- for their belongings and for Mother to ride with Stephen. Clinton's bow was strapped to the saddle while he trotted on all fours, easily keeping up, and more confident of his ability to protect them in this form than in Man shape. The thick fur mostly hid the scar at his throat shoulder and flank, and he played well the part of Tame Wolf, while Donald slept on the bundled blankets behind Mother.

Phillip walked alongside the horse, reins in hand and gaze distant but still alert. He walked as if he were nothing more than a poor man, out with just the few things he called his own -- his "pet" wolf, his widowed mother, his "brother", the horse and a puppy. He would nod in response to those who would pass, but rarely would he speak much more than a mumbled greeting. He didn't know where they were heading, but he let Clinton nudge him in whatever direction his Mate wanted him to take.

Clinton did extra duty, his nudges passing along magic and energy to his Mate, and also to the horse, as they travelled, so that they might travel longer, and farther. They headed northeast of where they'd once called home, headed away from civilized folk and toward less populated areas. In the course of a week, they travelled to the eastern coast, then meandered upward from there until they found an area that Clinton could not smell Wolf message upon, only that of few wolves - and those would not bring them harm. While everyone rested, he hunted, and in hunting found a sheltered glen. He would lead them there on the morrow, and there they would make their new home.

 **It was while Clinton** was out hunting that a figure made its way along the outskirts of where the small, mismatched pack had made camp. It moved silent as a shadow, low to the ground and curious, but hesitant. The scent was confusing. Man, Not-Man, and Not-wolf. Yet there were clearly three humans and a wolf pup.

The scene of another Not-wolf caught the watcher's attention. It was stronger and laced with magic that sizzled the air and rustled along the leaves. The figure followed it, searching out its source. Limping along, and yet never making a sound as it did so.

Clinton had found a large rabbit for them all, and paused once he'd made the kill to lift his head and scent the wind.

Wolf.

Taking the dead rabbit by the scruff to carry back, he carefully made his way, assessing.

The watcher stood hidden in the brush, carefully disguised so as not to be seen. It'd followed the Not-wolf scent and found its source, the brown Not-wolf. With a rabbit. A very, very delicious looking rabbit.

The scent came again. Clinton set the rabbit down, moving to stand over it, sniffing in attempt to get a direction. The wind kept changing, and he kept losing the scent, mixed in with the unfamiliar sea smell that shifted over the entire area.

Slowly, carefully, the watcher changed its position, never staying in one place for very long, especially not once it realized the Not-wolf had picked up its scent. It would wait. Wait to see where the Not-wolf went, and follow down wind.

Ears perked, Clinton stayed still, looking and sniffing for a few minutes more before picking the rabbit back up and heading in a roundabout way back to his Pack, for that's what they were now.

Their own.

He dropped the rabbit near the fire and tore a chunk out of it for Donald to worry at before shifting and stretching. He gave his second born a brief pet on his way to see to Phillip nursing their first born, resting his large palm on Stephen's head. "Love." he said by way of greeting.

The watcher drew back in surprise as the Not-wolf shifted to Not-Man and moved to kiss and pet those at the outer edge of the group.

Phillip looked up at Clinton and gave a soft smile in return. "Love you," he answered back before turning his attention back down to where Stephen was still busily and quite contently nursing away.

At the fire, Jocelyn began readying a pot and the few vegetables they had left to make a stew. At least, until a shadow at her left caught her attention and she turned just in time to see a wolf creep forwards towards the rabbit. Lifting a stick near her, she moved quickly. "Off! Shoo! Shame on you!"

Clinton looked over and in a moment had shifted, moving to stand beside Mother with a questioning growl, attention on the newcomer. Not combative, but watchful. Would it show itself as a threat?

The new Wolf lowered itself and gave no signs of being submissive, but also not entirely of being a threat. Unless someone else started the fight. It gave a quiet, muffled growl in return, the sound not quite right. Though it was hard to tell why, in the faded light of dusk.

Clinton slowly approached, showing some dominance, but not the sort that he felt he needed to assert, not just yet. He moved closer, eyes and nose investigating.

At the approach, the new Wolf inched backwards, hair raised and an attempt at a snarl on its face. Its eyes darted to the rabbit briefly, then back to the Not-wolf, as if weighing the options carefully. Finally, it turned, diving back into the shadows of the brush to hide and wait.

Clinton watched a moment then went back to the rabbit, looking up at Mother as if asking her if he should go with his instinct or no.

Jocelyn looked to the rabbit, then to Clinton with a slight nod before turning her attention back to readying the stew.

Clinton growled a little as he went back to the kill, ripping off a hind leg with good meat, and carrying it with him toward the Wolf, he was sure of it - but it smelled off. Wrong, somehow. He edged along the scent path it'd left.

As the Not-wolf got closer, a low, muffled growl shifted through the leaves, bright green eyes shining out from between the branches.

Clinton wagged his tail, setting down the food and standing just one step back, giving an Invitation whine-bark.

There was silence for a moment before the new Wolf inched forward, front right paw being favored as it moved. It watched the Not-wolf cautiously, taking its time to get to the offered meat. Once there, the new Wolf whined softly and managed to bare the front teeth just enough to pull tiny bits of meat off to swallow. Painfully.

Clinton made no move to approach, not wanting to put the new russet Wolf off its meal. _Her_ meal, smelled female. And injured. He made a questioning sound, ears perked forward.

The new Wolf flinched at his noise, eyes darting up and alert, ready to bolt at a moments notice if need be. She startled again, when at her paws, the offered meat moved and the scent of the small Not-wolf filled her nostrils.

Donald had hold of the exposed bone, determination set in trying to drag it off without being noticed. He was unaware that he'd failed on that one.

Clinton huffed fondly and picked him up by the scruff, setting him aside before turning back to the russet Wolf. He nosed the food toward her again. Pax.

Sneezing once, she shook her head, stepping back even as she eyed the meat longingly. Though it was hard to tell in the darkness of the woods, her coat was mud caked and no doubt her ribs were beginning to show. Her stomach gurgled and gargled in protest, and oh how she wished starvation would just take her already and be done with it.

Clinton shifted, slower than he had before, not wanting to startle the Wolf. "Hello," he said, holding a hand out gently. "Let me help."

She stepped back again, eying him cautiously. When her tail brushed against a tree behind her, she froze, staring at the Not-Man. As he edged closer, she made no attempt to move.

"You are welcome to my Pack. Regular food. Safe Pack. Let me help you."

Though the new Wolf stayed alert, she did finally relax her posture enough to show she was willing to accept this invitation. Her bright green eyes darted back towards the clearing where the fire was crackling and the smell of boiling carrots and potatoes was filling the air. Looking back to the Not-Man, she took a hesitant step forward.

Clinton did not move, waiting until she'd come within reach. "Thank you," he said gently, turning his hand to gently touch her fur, his magic singing through the touch and racing to help, to heal.

She squirmed and flinched, head whipping around to try to nip at his hand, though she couldn't open her mouth enough to do so. Whining, she continued to simply squirm and try to get away from the healing touch.

He put his other hand to cup the side of her face. "Pax," he said again. "Let me help you. I won't hurt you as long as you don't hurt my family," he promised. "Will you let me see what's wrong?"

Again, another whimper and squirm, her head coming around to get at his hand again. Her teeth made a chattering sound, as if she were trying to bite and nip, though her mouth never opened.

At his father's side, Donald whined softly and scooted on his belly across the dirt and twigs, nosing at her right paw still being favored.

Clinton didn't pull his Pup away, this time, letting Donald join in healing her paw while he tried to learn what was wrong with her jaws. She should have been able to bite in her fear, yet it was like she couldn't. When he saw her paw was healed, he gave Donald a gentle nudge. "Get your bearer," he said. "I need his help."

Donald gave a happy whuff that he was able to help his sire and went tromping through the brush, yipping and barking and baby-howling for bearer to come see what his sire found!

 **Phillip was on his feet** the moment he heard Donald yip. He fixed his shirt as he passed Stephen off to his mother to hold so that he could follow after his Wolfborn. "Yes, Donald, I'm coming. Let's go see."

"My Mate is coming, he won't hurt you. He understands Man's things, I don't know how to help you hunt again. He will," he said with soft assurance.

The She-Wolf whimpered and eyed him until the Not-Man she'd seen before stepped into view. Though she didn't draw back, she did tense, ready to do what she must if need be.

Donald pounced and pranced and yipped, toppling over his sire's foot and righting himself quickly to scold the offending body part for tripping him before panting up at his sire. He'd brought his bearer! He was a good helper! Yes, he was!

At the sight of the scared Wolf, Phillip slowed his steps and kept a small distance, not wanting to be intimidating. He held his hand out for her to smell while he focused his attention on Clinton. "Who's this?" He asked quietly. His eyes darting down to their son briefly, before looking back up to meet his Mate's eyes.

"Friend," Clinton decided, his hand moving to her paw, finishing up what his Pup had nearly done on his own. "She can't open her mouth, I don't understand why."

Phillip nodded and once again looked down to their Pup. A small twitch formed at the corner of his mouth as he watched curiously while Donald sat at Clinton's feet, looking up and head turning one way, then the other, as if watching something move above him. Maybe it was horrible, or maybe Phillip trusted his young Pup not to do anything foolish, but he put the thought aside and turned his attention back to the She-Wolf. "Hello," He spoke calmly, giving her a small nod. My name's Phillip. This is my Mate, Clinton, our son--"

Phillip's word's cut off as Donald finally gave a mighty yip and bounced his front end off the ground, catching his sire by his most sensitive of parts.

Clinton's shout turned into a yelp as he immediately shifted rolling over, as he shook off Donald, and whimpering -- inspecting himself and giving himself a lick as magic skittered to heal the damage.

Phillip had to rolled his lips between his teeth to keep from laughing outright. Oh, and Clinton wondered why Phillip had taken to wearing clothes all the time again.

Donald rolled and tumbled snout-over-tail until he came to a stop on his back and looked at his sire and bearer upside down for a moment. Realizing he'd hurt his sire -- though how, he didn't know -- he inched forward, tail between his hind legs and head down. Whimpering softly in apology.

Beside Phillip, the She-Wolf's body moved as if she were trying to laugh, and her eyes shown brightly through the night, nearly glowing. Oh what a pack to be invited into!

Assured he hadn't lost his knot, or everything attached to it - though it felt like he had! - Clinton licked over Donald's head and ears in forgiveness.

Phillip moved to scoop Donald up and set him on his shoulder. The Pup had seemed to take a liking to perching there. At least for the moment. Turning back to the She-Wolf, he took another step closer. "May I please take a look at your snout?"

She hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, allowing him access to it.

"Thank you," He murmured, running just the tips of his fingers across her muzzle and frowning when he felt something thin, cold, and certainly some kind of metal wrapped around her. He tilted her chin up and to the side for a better look. "Clinton? I have a pair of shears in the bag. Bring them here for me?"

Clinton barked and went, nosing around the pack until he found them, and carried them back.

"Thank you, Love," He murmured, taking them and giving Clinton's head a gentle pet, letting his own magic drift through to send warmth and soothing comfort to his tender spots. A small, unspoken promise that he would help to make things hurt less later. When they could be alone. Or at least once the Pups had gone to sleep for the night.

Turning back to the She-Wolf, he gave a nod. "I need to cut this wire free. I promise not to hurt you, but you must stay perfectly still so that I don't cut you on accident. Yes?"

She blinked twice.

Phillip was going to take that as a 'yes'. Careful as he could, he worked the tip of the shears under the wire, clenched both hands around the handle, and with all his weight and might pressed them together. The wire snapped with a metallic _snick!_ before it dropped to the ground with only the faintest of rustles.

Clinton stepped forward giving his tail another brief wag, giving her the whine-bark of invitation, ears perked forward and eyes warm and welcoming. He nosed the rabbit leg toward her again.

It took a moment for the She-Wolf to work her jaw and get it to move again. Once she did, she set upon the leg with an awkward vigor that proved it'd been some time since she'd been able to eat.

Clinton stepped back to leave her to it, turning to lick at Phillip's fingers, telling his Mate that he was grateful for him, proud of him... and going to stay a Wolf for the time being - just to be safe.

Phillip smiled back softly, scritching behind Clinton's ears before looking back to the She-Wolf as she tore the rabbit leg apart in record time. "Come back to our camp," he finally offered with a nod. "We don't have much, but we'll make it stretch."

Muzzle a mess, the She-Wolf looked up at him, then to the other Not-Man and sneezed before straightening her stance. She'd been invited into their pack anyway. So of course she was going to accept and go to their camp with them.

Clinton moved, rubbing against her nose to tail and back again, sharing scent and adding her to his little Pack. He whuffed and mouthed the top of her muzzle in a gentle 'this is my pack that you are welcome into', before shoving gently into her shoulder to lead her back to camp.

She followed him, though was very cautious of her surroundings, particularly the Man who'd held the stick at her.

Phillip, still holding Donald as they came to the clearing, moved for his mother to quietly explain to her the new situation. Donald wiggled from his bearer's arms and tumbled gracelessly to the ground, tumbling to get back to the piece of rabbit meat his sire had torn off for him.

Jocelyn looked to Clinton, then to the new Wolf, then back to him and nodded. "We will make sure we have enough for her to eat. Here, take your son so I can finish supper. Clinton? Please finish skinning the rabbit so I can cook it?"

Clinton whuffed and shifted to man-shape, moving over to the rabbit and taking up the knife he sat down to skin it, his movements still slightly clumsy from the newly-learned task.

Donald kept worrying at the meat, wagging his hind end so hard he kept almost falling over. When he was done, he went over to sniff around at the newcomer, yipping his _hello again's._

The She-Wolf eyed Donald a bit, sniffed at him before turning her attention back to the one called Clinton. Odd name, but, if that is what his pack calls him...

Phillip took Stephen and bounced him slightly, before getting him to burp and gurgle. He settled himself near the fire to keep warm, settling Stephen back into his basket.

Clinton looked up at his Mate, smiling across the fire. "Thank you," he said, nodding slightly to the She-Wolf. "I could not do that."

"It just some wire that got around her muzzle. Simple enough to cut," Phillip shrugged, blushing a bit and ducking his head to hide his blush creeping up his neck and ears.

"No just. We can't. I wouldn't have been able to work it off. That takes Man knowledge. She's lucky you were here, Phillip."

Phillip gave a shrug and head shake, reaching up to rub at his neck awkwardly. "Well, I've developed a soft spot for Wolves in need, so...."

"Lucky us," Clinton grinned, glancing up at him before working the rest of the skin off the rabbit, setting it aside and laughing as Donald immediately pounced on it, shaking it and dragging it around like a toy blanket.

The She-Wolf watched their exchange closely, then the Pup pounce and attack the skin. This was certainly a unique little pack.

Jocelyn took the skinned rabbit from Clinton and placed it in the pot hanging above the fire. "This will take a little while. Why don't you try to make our new friend comfortable?"

"Of course," Clinton said, smoothly shifting back to his base form and trotting over to the She-Wolf, nosing at her and stamping his forefeet on the ground in attempt to draw her into playing with him and his Pup.

Green eyes darted between him and the Pup, taking half a step back. Playing was not something she knew much of. She couldn't remember a time in her long life when she'd truly played. Possibly as a Pup, but she couldn't remember.

Clinton tilted his head, coming forward a little and stopping. Donald had no such hesitation, bouncing right up to her and yipping at her foot.

She looked down at him curiously, dipping her head just enough to nudge his side with her nose. It wasn't quite playing, but it was at least something.

Donald was ecstatic, dancing aside and yipping, wagging his hind end and jumping up to nose her muzzle with a happy yip hello.

She blinked in surprise at his enthusiasm, giving a small 'whuff' huff before looking back to Clinton for guidance. What in the world was she supposed to do with something so small and yippy?

Clinton's tongue lolled happily as he wagged his tail, giving encouragement.

Looking back down to the Pup, she dipped her head again, giving him another small nudge. Questions were forming in her mind, ones that could only be asked with a voice, but with the Not-Man and Man so close by, there was no way she was going to shift in order to ask them.

Donald yipped, getting on his hind legs and putting his little paws on her shoulder, licking at her ear before gamboling off to go cuddle with his brother for a nap.

Clinton watched his Pup go, then nudged her gently with his nose in camaraderie, ears perking forward curiously.

She turned her head to look back at Clinton, and gave a small huff again. Lowering her head in recognition that he was leader of this pack, she nudged her nose at his chin before sitting down.

He stood for a moment, taking the acknowledgement, before flopping down near her and the fire, watching over all of them, ears turning to catch the sounds of the coming night.

*** * ***

**The salt-pepper Wolf** picked his way slowly into the encampment beneath the threat of thunder, the stench of death and fire stinging his nostrils. Somewhere within was high pitched crying, and he was drawn to it with little hesitation.

The bodies of men, bows in hand, littered the encampment, throats torn out and bled to death. A pair of Wolves, red and brown, lay near the final pile of bodies, arrows still steaming in their fur, blood soaked muzzles lifelessly pointed toward the sound he followed. Beyond them, two lay together, arrows through her arm and heart, and a few in his lungs as he lay protectively over his dead mother - she over a basket.

A basket from which came the high pitched crying.

The Wolf shifted, and Bruce gently pulled Phillip and Jocelyn’s bodies from their treasured kin, laying them with Clinton and the other Wolf, revealing a silver-white Pup lying protectively over the squalling infant, even as the thunder continued to roll, the air almost electric with unsparked lightning in the cloudless morning light. Stephen’s delicate, tiny fingers clutched the soft fur of his little brother to him, as Donald shivered in fear, ears back, tail tucked, a tiny growl in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an alternate version of the final scene of this chapter, it is quite a bit more descriptive - if anyone wants to see it, it is available in the comment section of this chapter.


	27. Chapter 27

**Anthony woke with a start,** pushing himself to four feet. He sniffed, finding nothing wrong in the air, and moved to where Maria was sleeping, picking her up and bringing her back to bed with him, curling protectively around his little Pup.

A dream... or another premonition?

_Get there in time, Bruce... I’m sorry...._

*** * ***

**When night finally settled,** and with their stomachs filled with stew and what was left of the bread, Phillip nestled in with his and Clinton's Pups, Jocelyn nearby so that he could keep his family close, and drifted to sleep; leaving Clinton and the new wolf alone and awake.

Clinton kept watch as the night stilled, not yet ready to sleep. He turned his attention to the She-Wolf once everyone was sleeping, ears perked forward with curiosity.

She sat off away from the others, watching them all carefully. When she noticed Clinton watching her, she lifted her head and tilted it just slightly to the side in question.

He wagged his tail once and got to his feet, ambling over to her, nosing her paw to make sure it had healed, pushing a touch more magic to her aid before he sat down and shifted. "Did they hurt you too much to shift?" he asked, sounding like he’d had experience in that.

Waiting for a moment to make sure the others were truly asleep, the She-Wolf shifted, masking the pain it caused carefully. Once she was in her alternate form, she was a small, petite woman, with flowing bright red hair and piercing green eyes.

"Hello, friend," he said. He could see she was thin, and felt protective. His smile was warm and welcoming.

Staring at him for a moment, as if she didn't quite understand what he was saying, she finally gave a small nod. "Hello...."

"Do you have a name?" he asked. He'd gotten his own Man's Name only a few years ago, by this world’s standards. He’d had it for a decade on his own count, if one considered his time South.

Again, it took a moment for her to respond. Whether because she was deciphering what he was saying, or was weighing her options of telling him her name. "Natalia," she finally said, the simple name laced with a heavy Eastern accent.

"Natalia," Clinton repeated, trying the name on his tongue. He nodded. "Our Pack is small, and new, but you are welcome and safe."

"It is an odd pack," Natalia stated, looking back to the humans sleeping with the Pup.

Clinton laughed and nodded. "We are. Phillip was a Man. His mother still is. Our pups are Wolf and Man, but they both have our Magic."

"Your Mate is Not-Man, but Not-Wolf?"

Clinton tilted his head a moment, then nodded. "Yes. He was a Man. When I claimed him, magic gave him the gift of Wolf."

Natalia nodded thoughtfully. "Odd Pack," she mumbled again. They were so different from where she'd come from. From a place where Man dared not tread. Until they did. And sent her pack running, scattering them to the four corners ... and then some.

"Yes. But an odd Pack is better than Lone," Clinton answered, tilting his head again as he watched her clearly thinking.

"Sometimes," her voice was quiet and reflective. "Your Pup is too young to be traveling distances. Why are you running?"

Clinton watched her a moment then looked at his family. "Our Alpha rejected my Mate and our Manborn Pup once he was born. I lost the fight for our right to stay, so we left." He looked back at her, more accepting of what had happened than his Mate was. It was simply how things were. If the Alpha chased you from his pack, you were Lone, or you formed a new one. "The clearing I found the rabbit. We will have a new home and den there. It is far enough, and you are the only Wolf in the area - and you are Pack, so they are safe."

"The Man pup is yours, too?" That was near unheard of! Though, so was taking a Man mate to begin with. Things certainly were different here.

"Yes. They are littermates." Clinton replied, shrugging. "Magic does as she will."

"That it will." Natalia nodded off towards the sleeping ones again. "The one who threatened me? She is your mate's mother?"

"Yes," he answered, making no apology. He saw no need for one - at the time it was the right thing to do, and she'd accepted Natalia just as easily as she'd accepted him once things were set right.

"But not the mother of the Pups?"

"The Bearer was my Mate. Phillip, who freed your jaws."

Brows knitted together gently, Natalia looked back at him in confusion. "He's male. Male's can't be Bearers."

"Magic changed him. He Bears for me."

Natalia shook her head, frowning. "Magic cannot do that. If it could, Packs would not die out when their females were killed or taken from them."

"Man magic mixed with Wolf magic," Clinton said.

"Man cannot wield magic."

"They can. Mages and Potioners," he said. "Here, they do."

Sitting in quiet thought for a long moment, Natalia finally brought a hand up to touch at her cheek, then her wrist. "There are too many hunters in this land. Those like us have fled or been killed."

Clinton touched the scars at his shoulder and flank in memory. He dropped his gaze to the fire, and nodded. "I lost my born Pack to hunters. The ones that raised me were as well. There are also hunters here. If you do not want to stay with us, I can help you cross South." He didn't know if her word was different, but that was the only he'd ever known.

Natalia's head tilted in questioning. "South? Why would I wish to go south? I have no one there."

Not the same word, then. "To the land where magic is. It is safe there, but it is not this world."

"Safe?" The word was just as strange to her as most everything else he said. "You and your Mate. Is that where you will take him and your Pups?"

"Last. We like this world, though the Pups were born there. If we cannot stay safe here, we will go." Clinton shrugged one shoulder. He hadn't told Phillip that he considered that an option - taking him from his home countryside seemed almost too much with no warning. That was a decision he wanted his Mate to weigh in on. They liked it there, but they had longed for these skies, the feel of quiet the mundane world had that the South did not.

Again, Natalia sat quiet and reflective. She didn't say anything for several minutes, and when she finally did speak, it was quiet, with an even tone. "My Pack lived for many years in the quiets. We were hunters, never hunted. Respected. Then, Man arrived. We fought them until we were sent running. My Mate was lost as he and I ran. I used my magic to come to this land. The others in my Pack were lost to me. But here was no better than my home. Hunters who preyed for sport, not necessity. Who captured to torture, not to tame or kill for food. Our kind is safe nowhere." Face blank, she lifted her eyes to meet Clinton's. "But if I am welcomed to your Pack, then I go where you go."

"You are welcome," Clinton told her. "When I speak with my Mate and his mother, your voice will be heard, as well - if the choice needs to be made. Does that seem right?" he asked.

Natalia sat still for a moment, eying Clinton thoughtfully before giving a small, but sharp, nod. "Yes. Thank you."

Clinton only nodded. "Come closer to the fire and sleep."

Natalia nodded once more and slowly stood to follow, still just a bit wary of the others, but having faith that they wouldn't harm her. Clinton's Mate did free her muzzle, after all.

He reached slowly to touch her shoulder, then led her there, trusting her to follow, trusting her with his back. He shifted when he got there, curling up near his pups and Mate.

*** * ***

**The following day was** relatively quiet, Donald capering about Natalia while everyone carefully got to know each other. Clinton spent much of the day with Phillip, while the females watched over the Pups - their newest Packmate not minding the usual omega duty, clearing away what they could of the brush and planning how to build a temporary home while they worked on a more permanent one.

Clinton mentioned that he considered going South permanently as an option - but they both agreed they would give this realm one last try. Clinton's attempts at bringing laughter or a smile to his Mate mostly failed, and he wished he knew how to mend his Mate's heart.

 **It was night,** once more, the Pups asleep in a basket not far from the fire, when the first flaming arrow flew into the encampment, followed swiftly by four others. Natalia and Clinton moved quickly, barely escaping being burned, let alone impaled, and snarled, senses alert to find their prey, putting themselves between the Men of their number and those Hunters who would destroy their small Pack.

Phillip startled at the first arrow, and then panicked when the others followed. He knew what the arrows were, why they were on fire, and who they were for. Them. All of them.

Jumping up, he darted for the basket where his sons slept, and quickly -- carefully -- shoved it into Jocelyn's arms. "Take them, Mother, please?"

Jocelyn held the basket close, frantically ducking as another arrow sang over her head. She looked between her son and Clinton, and nodded. She would protect them, as best as she was able to.

Clinton barked harshly at Natalia, trusting Wolf instinct, as the two shifted to either side of the fire while Clinton trusted his Mate to protect those less able than himself. When the first Hunter came forth, Clinton leaped over the fire to tear his throat out, Natalia following soon after at the next to appear, even as more arrows fell.

Phillip knew he could fight in his Wolf form, even if not very well, but he also knew he needed to try and protect his mother and sons. A hiss of pain tore through him as an arrow scorched across his back, and he struggled to pull his shirt off before it could burn him more.

There was chaos all around as Clinton and Natalia went after anyone who came into their encampment. Still, the arrows continued to fall; silver-tipped and burning. Jocelyn cried out as one embedded itself in her arm and Phillip rushed to smother the flames as they caught on her linen blouse.

In the basket, Stephen cried and Donald yipped and howled in fear. The air filling with static and thunder, though the sky was empty and bright with stars and moonlight.

The Wolves yelped as arrows bit into them, or burned on their way past. They only stopped briefly after a kill to bite off the shaft, then fight again - well aware they may well die, but neither willing to risk the Pups by giving up. Natalia had joined their Pack, for good or ill, and she fought just as viciously as Clinton while their fur became speckled with mixed blood, and their muzzles soaked with it.

Panic and fear rising up in him, Phillip shielded his mother as best he could as the sounds of men cheering and jeering grew louder and louder. He could hear the snap of the bow-strings as they loosed their arrows and spared one lingering glance to Clinton, wanting to see him alive one last time, before he closed his eyes and waited for the blow he knew would be coming.

Except, it didn't.

 **A fierce and powerful snarl** filled the air as a mighty salt-pepper Wolf sprang from the shadows, clearing Phillip and Jocelyn's ducked heads. The Wolf wasted no time in going after the ones who were trying to do harm on the small pack. He tore at the throat of a man trying to sneak up on Natalia, ripping it wide open before leaping onto the back of one who dared to try and fire upon Jocelyn's back. There was no sign of remorse from the Wolf. Just cold vengeance and protection.

The Men, unafraid before and sure of their victory, fighting with anger for their dead comrades, screamed; cut off suddenly as the new Wolf, more vicious than any they'd ever seen before, entered the fray. A few more loosed arrows that felled Clinton and Natalia, now unable to do more than crawl toward Phillip and the others, determined to be a final line of defense if they could.

Panting, they fell to the grass, Natalia closing her eyes and hoping the end came quickly. Clinton's remained open, trained on Phillip for a last sight. He had no way of knowing whether the battle would end before the arrows were pulled free.

Thunder and lightning arced through the sky, never hitting, charging the air with terrified magic.

Phillip left Jocelyn to guard over the basket as he crawled towards Clinton, shaking his head and trembling as he prayed to the heavens that this wasn't happening again. He ripped the arrows from Clinton first, ignoring the pain across his shoulders the motion brought.

"Please," he begged, hands shaking as he pressed them to Clinton's body. "Please, not again. _Please!_ "

The new Wolf made short work of two more Hunters, leaping on one just as he was ready to shoot, sending the arrow off course and into the neck of the second.

Clinton made a soft sound, turning his head to lick at Phillip before whining and looking at their new Packmate.

Phillip looked to Natalia and loathed to leave Clinton. Even just for a second. He willed his magic to go to Clinton, to heal him quickly. "I'm not leaving you. Not until you're okay. I can't!"

Finally, abruptly, the sounds of fighting stopped. The struggling cries of the Hunters ceased, leaving only the panting breath and growls of a still raging Wolf to fill the night and mix with the -still terrified- thunder and lightning.

Clinton growled, and slowly, painfully, shifted - his body littered with the wounds still, burned and bleeding. He dragged himself the body length to Natalia and reached for the first of the arrows, his breath laboured and pained.

Natalia only whined quietly as the first arrow was worked free.

Sitting back, shoulders hunched, burned and bloodied, Phillip ducked his head and glanced away. His throat tightened and a cold, heavy weight twisted around his insides as he watched Clinton help Natalia. In his head, all Phillip could see was Clinton lying on the floor of their home that first time - slowly dying of silver tipped arrows - and Phillip being helpless to save him.

A quiet rustle came from the other side of the camp just before Bruce came into sight, breathing hard and using a cloth to wipe the blood from his body. He watched Clinton crawl for the red Wolf, and Phillip sit back with his eyes wide and distant, and shook his head. Carefully, he moved to Phillip's side, ready to help him with the wound on his back, only for Phillip to jump in fear.

"Shhhh, it's okay. It's just me. It's Bruce. I came to find you all, bring you back home. Let me hel--"

"Don't..." Phillip shook his head, lifting his arms and curling on himself a bit. "Don't... my mother.  She... arrow in her arm.  Please just... help her."

Clinton pulled the fourth arrow free, two fewer than his own, and lay on the ground, one hand in the red Wolf's fur, the other reaching for Phillip. He didn't have the energy to speak to, or argue with, Bruce, only nodding. "Help.... Mother..." he said, hand tightening on Phil's leg momentarily as he shut his eyes, concentrating on surviving and feeling like he had only a barely better chance this time around.

A soft, choked up sob escaped Phillip and he pulled himself away from Clinton, away from everyone. He couldn't. He just... couldn't.

Bruce did as Clinton asked, though passed a worried glance to Phillip before doing so. The wound wasn't terrible. At least, not as bad as it could have been, and Jocelyn bore the pain of the arrow being pulled free with barely more than a soft cry. Thankfully, the arrowhead came with. Bruce wasn't sure he would have been able to dig it out if it hadn't.

Once Natalia was able to shift, proving she was beginning to heal, she immediately went unconscious. Clinton pushed himself to his ungainly feet, stumbling to check on his Pups. He couldn't let himself rest too long. He needed to be alert. He had managed through being remade. He could survive this.

A stray stone was his downfall, causing him to trip to the ground, falling to his knees with a low grunt as he reached to lay a broad, bloody hand over his Pups as he lay beside the basket letting his scent, rather than the sight of him, reassure them.

Bruce gave Clinton a small nod that the Pups were okay before he set about to heal the wound on Jocelyn's arm. It didn't take much, the burn took more magic than the arrow wound did.

Jocelyn reached her good hand up to lay over Bruce's, drawing his attention up and away. "Help Clinton."

"Your arm-"

"Will be fine. Help him, so he can help Phillip."

Bruce hesitated for a moment, before finally nodding and making his way to Clinton's side to help in his healing.

Clinton took a breath. "Natalia." he said, opening his eyes again. She'd already been through so much before coming to him, she'd defended their Pack at his side without hesitation....

...And as the thunder and lightning ebbed from the clear sky, a tingle at his fingertips said his Pups were helping him in their own sweet way. He could wait. He would be distracted if she wasn't helped when he went to Phillip.

Bruce frowned slightly, glancing towards the unconscious woman and moved to her side, instead, letting his magic flow through to heal her.

Gently, Clinton pet his fingers through his sons’ hair and fur, soothing them to the point where they finally slept, fingers clutched to fur, furred nose pressed to soft cheek. He moved, painfully, rolling to his back again to look for Phillip.

 **Phillip sat at the edge** of the clearing, far from everyone. He had his knees pulled to his chest, arms around his legs, as he hid his face from view. His body shook, and tears tore through him.

While Bruce was busy with Natalia, and Jocelyn was near the Pups. Clinton shifted to limp ever so slowly to Phillip, shifting back to Man-shape and leaning into him, an arm around him. He couldn't do much, but he could be there. He fought the fog of pain to be _there_ as much as he could.

Gasping out, Phillip shook his head and pulled away, scooting further from Clinton. The tears rolled down his cheeks. "Don't," He sobbed. "Don't...."

Clinton whimpered, staying where he was, watching Phillip with worry at his despair. He shifted back to his base form, aching, and skulked painfully toward him; trying to get close, to share his magic and try to help - reverting to seven years gone habits.

Phillip stumbled to his feet, still shaking his head and crying. "Stop. Just stop!" His voice jumped and trembled, tight with emotion as he scrambled back from Clinton.

Shrinking back, Clinton made himself small in a way he hadn't since he'd hidden under the bed in Starke Keep, sure that Phillip had banished him from his side forever. Bleeding - in pain, weary, and worried - Clinton made himself small, once more, curled up and watching his Mate, unable to grasp him and hold him still, make him know they were safe.

Phillip stood, just at the edge of the campfire light, arms wrapped around his bare chest tightly, struggling for a breath and feeling like there wasn't enough air in the world to ever take one again. He shook from head to toe. He'd tried to help, so many times he tried to help, but he wasn't ever enough. "I...can't...."

Once more. He could manage that much without passing out, surely? Clinton shifted, a slower shift than he'd done since he'd been remade, and lay curled on the ground, reaching toward Phillip with one hand. "You... can't?" he asked softly.

Phillip took another gasping breath, and shook his head. He felt pain through every ounce of his body, both from the wound on his back and from nothing at all. From breathing. Just from _being_. Pain and guilt and confusion, making it hard for him to think or breathe.

Bruce came to stand at Clinton's side, glancing between the pair before looking back to Phillip. "You need to calm down, Phillip." He spoke calmly, a far cry from the viciousness he'd shown just moments before. "Just try to breathe, or you'll make yourself sick."

Clinton had no energy left in him to approach his mate once more, instead whimpering and reaching from where he lay, best he could, wishing he could hold him.

Sobs tore through Phillip's body again as he took another step back, stepping out of the clearing. Still shaking, he turned to run, wishing he weren't injured so he could take Wolf form and run faster, farther.

"Please don't leave us," Clinton managed, sounding just as lost and desperate. He couldn't lose his final Mate.

Phillip stumbled through the brush, still gasping and frantic, terrified over the fact he couldn't breathe, and of all the thoughts rushing and swirling through his head.

Bruce reached down, putting a gentle hand on Clinton's shoulder. "He'll be okay. Let him get some space."

It wasn't as though Clinton could race after him, even though he felt as though his heart were breaking. With a pained gaze, he looked at Bruce. "Why are you here?" he asked. "We aren't Pack anymore."

Bruce looked down to Clinton and knelt at his side, hands still helping to pull the silver poison from him and heal the wounds. "You're far too ready to give up on Pack," Bruce shook his head. "Anthony forgets that Maria had just as much of a chance being Manborn as she did being Wolfborn. He was irrational and wrong. I came to bring you all home."

Clinton hissed through his teeth as he was knit back together. "It isn't giving up, it is just the way of it. I don't understand your Man thinking - I fought the alpha, I lost. I don't understand your Man thinking." His mind felt muddled and tired, filled more with worry for Phillip and his small pack than his own standing with the one healing him.

"Just consider yourself lucky that you have a Man-Wolf on your side to knock sense into Anthony's thick skull." Bruce frowned, concentrating on helping the last bit heal. "You don't have to understand, just accept that you and yours are going to be coming home with me. As soon as Phillip calms himself down."

"I won't leave Natalia, either."

Bruce glanced back at the She-Wolf and nodded. "She's welcome to come back with us."

"And Stephen?" If Stephen was not, Clinton would stay away with him, but he would not deny Natalia a safer Pack, with safer walls away from Man.

"And Stephen. As I said, Maria could have just as easily been Manborn. Stephen is welcome in our Pack, just as you are, and just as Phillip is." Bruce stole another glance to Natalia and nodded. "Just as your new Packmate will be."

"I cannot promise we will stay."

"Just come home. We will work things out."

Clinton was finally able to breathe past the pain, which was quickly ebbing. He nodded, baring his throat, accepting his place as omega in the pack once more. "If you hadn't come-"

"Don't finish that thought. I did find you. That's what's important. You and your pack are fine."

"Yes." Clinton nodded, pushing himself to his feet, trying out his balance. "I will get Phillip."

"Clinton," Bruce caught him by his wrist, pulling him to a stop and around to face him. "Phillip has not seemed to have had a very easy year. I know your instincts won't understand, but be patient with him."

The young Wolf tilted his head as he looked at Bruce. "I can't leave him Lone."

"I didn't say to leave him alone. I'm just saying, hear him out. Listen to him. Let him cry if he needs to." Bruce pressed his lips together, took a breath, and shook his head. "Just be patient with him."

Confused, Clinton nodded, ducking his head as he turned to search for Phillip.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Happy V-day? ~R

**Phillip sat curled up against a tree** , shaking and sobbing, not more than a dozen or so yards from the camp. He still was having trouble breathing, catching his breath and trying to make his mind stop racing. All at once he wanted to be held and to run as far away from physical contact as he could. In the back of his mind, he still felt things were his fault. But now, it was more. It felt as if his feelings weren't worth anything to anyone. That he was foolish for them. And that still he wasn't good enough. Clinton wouldn't let him help. Growled at him and pulled away when Phillip refused to leave his side.

Another fierce sob shook his body and sent searing pain through his shoulders and head. He'd been afraid. So afraid. But it didn't matter. None of his fears seemed to matter.

Clinton wasn't as quiet in Man form as he usually was, the Wolf in him still both gangly and ungraceful. He made it to Phillip and crouched behind him, laying a gentle hand over the worst of the burn, pushing magic into him silently.

Jumping, Phillip shook his head frantically and scrambled away. Clinton wouldn't accept his help, Phillip didn't want anyone's help either.

No longer injured, Clinton reached for him, dragging him close and holding him as he worked to heal his mate's injuries. "Stay," he said softly. "Love."

"St-stop..." Phillip whimpered, struggling to pull away. "Stop. I...."

Clinton dropped his mouth to the mark where he'd bitten him back when they'd first come together. "Love," he said again, pressing his lips there in a soft kiss as he continued to heal the raw burns for him.

Phillip fought the magic-made instinct to submit, go pliant in Clinton's arms. He wouldn't give in to that. He squirmed, pulling at Clinton's hold to get free. "Stop! I... I c-can't..."

"Can't what?" Clinton asked, noting the burn was now closer to a sunburn than not, and hoping he could hold onto Phillip long enough to finish the healing.

"B-br-breathe...." It was a struggle just to get that much out and Phillip fought harder to break free. Not enough air. Not enough anywhere.

Clinton didn't know how to fix that, he couldn't feel anything wrong with his lungs. "Breathe like me?" he suggested, keeping his own calm and normal, and not giving in to his worry.

Phillip shook his head, still struggling to pull free. His fault. His stupid fault. All of it. Everything. Every time Clinton got hurt. And if that wasn't enough, Phillip couldn't even help heal his own Mate. Wrong. Everything.

"Please let me help," Clinton asked, trying to keep out the begging tone from his voice.

Shaking his head, Phillip curled his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. Everything he was feeling, the swirling thoughts in his mind, all felt ridiculous. Like he was. "S-Stop... d-don't.... p-please..."

It was a light sunburn now, and Clinton still held him. "Love," he said simply, once more. Trying to remind Phillip of that fact.

Phillip gave another struggle, desperate to yank himself free and put space between himself and Clinton. His own body and mind didn't make sense at the moment and all he wanted to do was to be left alone. He didn't want to be told his feelings and fears were wrong. That he was wrong. Even though he knew deep down he was. He always had been.

Reluctantly, and carefully, Clinton let go - sure not to let Phillip go sprawling. His touch lingered a moment before he gave his mate the space he clearly wanted, vowing inwardly not to leave him alone in his thoughts, if he could. He would tell that Phillip was upset, but he didn't understand why. He wanted to _understand_ why.

Phillip stumbled away from Clinton, still struggling for breath, and leaned hard against a nearby tree. He half doubled over on himself, hands braced on his knees and head down. It took several long moments before he was able to string a complete sentence together without stammering. "Why couldn't I help you...?"

"You pulled the arrows free. She needed help more...."

Phillip's head lifted quickly, eyes flashing. " _I_ needed to help _you_!" His breath caught in his throat again as he looked away. "All I saw, was you when you collapsed in our hall. Full of arrows I'd made. And I couldn't do anything to save you. I couldn't..." He bit off his words to swallow thickly, a new set of tears threatening to overtake him. "

I tried to help you. I tried to take care of you. And I couldn't. I wasn't enough." His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. Sniffling, Phillip looked back to Clinton. "I couldn't leave you. Not like that. I tried to help you and you snarled at me and moved away when I refused to leave you. I'm still not enough." Again, his eyes darted away and voice dipped softer. "I never will be."

A low whine in Clinton's throat was the only way he could let himself show his distress at his _Mate's distress_.

"You are my _everything_ ," Clinton said carefully. "Natalia helped me try to protect you, would have given her life to protect you, and our Pups, and Mother. What thanks is it to leave her in agony while I take the comfort I desperately want? I wasn't snarling because I was angry, it was the only sound I could manage in my pain to ask you to help her. I didn't want to be the same alpha to her that Anthony was to us. How could..." he swallowed, leaning on a tree not far from Phillip. "How could you still want me if I did?" He didn't _understand_. "Why won't you let me hold you?"

Phillip let himself drop back down to the soft forest floor. His head in his hands. "You're my Mate," He mumbled, shaking his head. "You are always going to come before anyone else. Especially when all I could see was you dying and becoming trapped in your Wolf form forever all over again."

Clinton carefully approached and knelt before him, reaching with a careful hand to rest on Phillip's knee. "Then I would go to be re-made once more," he murmured. "How can I ease your fear?" It wasn't irrational fear, not in the least - he would not belittle the fear, only seek to banish it.

"What if you couldn't be re-made this time?" Phillip didn't look up, he couldn't. "What if you were gone for longer? Or didn't come back at all?"

"I don't know. I would have taken you and the Pups with me. I would not leave you again."

"I had to help you," He mumbled again, shaking his head. "I couldn't leave you."

And finally, Clinton got it. "I understand," he said softly. "Please, let me hold you."

Snuffling softly, Phillip didn't say a word. He just moved himself around until he was able to lean into Clinton and let his Mate wrap him up in strong and protective arms.

Pressing his face into his Mate's hair, Clinton held him, magic mingling to take away the last stings of burns and weariness. "Please do not fear my leaving you," he whispered.

"I've almost lost you so many times already," Phillip whimpered back, his body growing heavy against Clinton's, "And I couldn't do anything about it. I had to help you, now. I had to try...."

"You did, Phillip," Clinton said, holding him tighter now. "You pulled the arrows free. You helped protect our Pups, you did so much."

Phillip snuffled again, head tucked under Clinton's chin and pressed to his bare chest. "Couldn't help you heal." The words barely trickled out as Phillip finally gave into exhaustion and slipped into a dreamless sleep against Clinton.

His heart broke for his precious Mate. "If I'd known Bruce would heal, I would have let you," he whispered into his hair. And in that moment, he knew he would have - but he hadn't known Bruce would do anything more than eliminate a threat that had the potential of following him back to the Keep. He hadn't known that they were being hunted to be brought home - all he knew was that the newest member of his Pack was dying, and he had to stop it - she'd already suffered so much at Man's hand.

He stayed there a long while, even as he heard the fire rekindled and crackling back at the camp for the night, the low murmur of voices. Gathering Phillip to himself, he stood, walking carefully back, pausing just outside the ring of light to watch Natalia curled up with Donald safe beside her, Jocelyn holding the sleeping Stephen, and Bruce watching over them - though he couldn't place the look on his face.

Clinton made a curious sound as he approached the fire, gently laying Phillip among the blankets beside Donald.

Bruce smiled softly and motioned them closer. "Come sleep and heal," he said.

Clinton carried Phillip over to the camp, laying him down near where Mother sat, back in the blankets they were going to sleep in before the Hunters attacked.

"Sleep," Bruce said again. "I've only been up a few hours, I will watch over you. In the morning we can start home."

"Yes," Clinton said simply, reaching to take Stephen from Mother and laying him in Phillip's arms, between him and Donald, before taking his own place behind his Mate and reaching across them all, briefly touching Natalia's hand before resting his hand on Donald's fur, keeping his small family close. He kissed the back of Phillip's shoulder and slept swiftly.

Jocelyn sat up a little while longer, speaking with Bruce and helping to plan the trip home, relaying to him the simple fact that Clinton was ready to take them anywhere at a moment’s notice if necessary - and that his little pack would follow their young Alpha. Bruce said that he understood, and that what drove them away would not be a problem again.

* * *

**The next morning was quiet** , many hands making light work as they packed up camp to go home. This time, Clinton walked beside Phillip, the two taking turns carrying Stephen as Jocelyn rode and Donald capered about, running between Natalia - having taken Wolf form - and his parents. Bruce led the way on powerful paws, ready to defend the still recovering family in a heartbeat.

They took what time they needed, and without the rush that Clinton had put on them to get away, it took days longer to return to Starke Keep. When it was in sight, Clinton stopped, clutching Phillip close, Stephen tucked in his arm, Phillip holding a sleepy Donald.

Phillip stiffened in Clinton's arms as the Keep came into view. He hadn't said much on the walk back, no more than he absolutely had to, and now he stood with that familiar cold weight settled into the pit of his stomach.

Bruce seemed to sense their apprehension, though, and turned to slowly make his way back to them, nudging his nose against Clinton's hand, then Phillip's. Everything would be fine. They were still welcome here. There was nothing to fear.

"I don't know..." Clinton said, resting his hand on Bruce's thick ruff. His own near death less important to his hesitation than Phil's distress.

Bruce whined softly, head ducked a bit before he licked Clinton's hand and took a big enough step back to shift back to his usual Man form. "I swear to you, things will be fine. If you would rather keep your family secluded in your den, you're free to. But this is your home, as well."

Clinton rubbed at his neck, not realising it was over the scar Anthony'd left him with, and looked to Phillip. "You are my Mate, my partner in all things," he said softly. "Do you feel safe?"

Swallowing thickly, Phillip stared at the Keep for another moment before taking a breath. Honestly, Phillip wasn't sure he felt safe _anywhere_ anymore. Still....

"...safer here than anywhere else..."'

"Safer than South?" he asked softly.

Phillip gave a small shrug. South was nice, but it wasn't home. At least not to Phillip. He'd go South, if that's where Clinton decided they needed to go, and eventually it could become home, but this was Phillip's home.

Clinton nosed his cheek then looked to Bruce. "For now," he answered, admitting to the possibility of transience. Growing up, he'd seen wolves join and leave his pack, called to by others, or by his own - it was what he was raised with, a bit different than a Wolf - and something he had no trouble with. Bruce had called them back, and unless they were called by someone Phillip felt safer with, or driven free one last time - they would stay.

With a small nod, Bruce shifted back to Wolf form and continued to lead them the rest of the way to the Keep. He could sense that Anthony was already there, waiting for their return, he just hoped his Mate was going to behave himself this time.

Phillip stayed as close to Clinton as he dared, but not so close that he would trip either of them up on the path.

Donald raised his head and licked once under Phillip's chin before settling down in his arms. Clinton stayed close, one hand on his Mate's back as they approached, making small statement in keeping his Man form.

Natalia hung back a little, staying near Clinton and his family. She'd joined his pack, and would stay with them. She did not know what to expect from those who had, evidently, expelled them once already. She took a protective pace, a little before Phillip and the horse Jocelyn rode, tail low and nervous.

 **True enough,** when the small troop reached the Keep, Anthony was there in his Man form, holding tight to the squirming and yipping little Wolf pup who was trying to get to Bruce. Bruce shifted easily and held his hands out to take their daughter, leveling Anthony with a firm stare and wordlessly ordering him to behave.

Anthony huffed and glanced away, though pink did tint the tips of his ears. Snuffling once, he squared his shoulders and took a step forward to meet Clinton and the others.

Clinton wordlessly handed Stephen to Jocelyn to hold one-arm'd, the other in a light sling, and stepped to the the front of his small pack. He did not lift his chin, nor bare his throat, simply standing alert to wait for the decision. He noted, a little confused, the way Bruce looked at Anthony, almost as though he were head Alpha - but perhaps that was a partnerish thing to do. A once-Man sort of thing. Or maybe another difference between Wolf and wolves.

Phillip stayed back by his mother and Natalia, not wanting to get too close out of fear of being the cause for another fight breaking loose.

Anthony stood tall, his shoulders still squared, and clenched his jaw once, then twice, before finally making to speak. "Your Den is as you left it."

Clinton's face remained unreadable. He nodded sharply, just once. "And my Firstborn? My Mate? My Mother?" he asked. "My Packmate? Are they welcome to my Den?"

Anthony sniffed the air and glanced around Clinton to take in the sight of the new Wolf. How in the world Clinton had managed to find a new Wolf in the short time they were gone, he didn't know. But, Bruce was right. Their pack was already small to begin with. A new member... maybe wouldn't be a bad thing.

Taking a breath, Anthony nodded. "They're welcomed."

Only then did Clinton lift his chin, a slight baring of his throat. It was cautious and slight. An admission that Anthony was Alpha - but that he was not unwilling to make challenge if necessary. Just because he lost the last fight, did not mean he would lose another.

Anthony acknowledged with a slight nod before he motioned towards the Keep. "Come inside. Eat and rest. You all look weary after your adventures."

Natalia skulked forward, nosing at Clinton's side. He glanced down to her. "Home," he said simply, then turned back to his family, reaching to take Stephen from Mother as not to tire her, then help her off the horse as he looked to Phillip. "Love."

Phillip gave a small nod, Donald still close to his chest. Still uncertain, he stayed close to Clinton as they moved through the manor and off toward the wing where their den was.

It wasn't until they were safe and sound in their own area that Phillip relaxed and breathed again.

Clinton shut the door, letting Natalia wander their suite as she wished, learning its shape and scent. He tucked Stephen against his shoulder and reached to Phillip, hugging him and Donald gently. "Okay?"

Phillip rested his cheek against Clinton's shoulder, his nose pressed to his Mate's neck for a moment just to breathe him in and center himself. It took a second, but Phillip finally nodded. "Yes... I hope so."

"We are here. In this set of rooms, we can trust." Clinton kissed Phillip softly before stepping back. He would bring up the blankets and basket later, but for now he wanted to move some into the main room between both for Natalia. Then, then he would be able to take his core family - his Mate and Pups - for the rest they so needed.

Jocelyn reached to stroke her free hand down Phillip's hair gently before she brushed her thumb across Clinton's cheek. "All will be fine. I have some spare pillows and a couple of extra blankets in my room that Natalia may have."

"Thank you, Mother," Clinton said, keeping a hand on Phillip. He appreciated her comfort, because he was just as nervous as Phillip, if for different reasons.

 **Natalia returned to the main room** and shifted near the window, putting small hands on the sill to look outside. It would be strange to sleep indoors like Men, she'd never done that before.

With a nod, Jocelyn turned to face Natalia. "Natalia, dear?" She called quietly, "Would you like your bed made up under the window?"

She turned, glancing at Clinton first before looking at the taller woman. "Yes," she said simply. "Will you show me how."

"Clinton, darling, go get the blankets and pillow for Natalia. I'll help her get a bed made up. You take Phillip and the boys and get some rest." Jocelyn instructed, taking up the charge while the others were still too weary to do much else.

Clinton turned, leading Phillip to their room, following her instruction. They had come so far from he and Phillip caring for her. Perhaps now it was their turn. "Here," he said softly, offering Stephen to him once Donald was curled up on one of the furs. "I will go get his basket?"

Phillip nodded but before Clinton could break away, caught him by the sleeve and pulled him in for a soft kiss and gentle nuzzle. "We will be here."

Clinton spent long moments nuzzling back, breathing in his Mate's scent, keeping Phillip close. "I will not leave you," he promised, picking up a few unused for now furs and blankets and carrying them back to the main room for Natalia and Mother to sort out.

Phillip settled himself on their nest of blankets and pillows, Stephen held close as he slept in Phillip's arms. He waited there, listening to his mother and Natalia in the other room, and waited for Clinton to return. A small weight was lifting off his shoulders and uncoiling from around his chest, but it would take time before he finally felt like himself again. _If_ he ever felt like himself again.

* * *

**Clinton made his way** back down down to free the horse from its tack and turn it loose in the fenced yard, to make sure it had food, to carry up the blankets and basket he could manage in a single trip, not willing to leave Phillip for too long. He paused to nod to Jarvis and Pepper, and paused again when he saw the pack Alphas between himself and the way to his Den - instinctively wanting to tuck small and sneak his way past without confrontation.

 **Anthony spotted Clinton** and cleared his throat awkwardly. There were two baskets in his hand, one with a white cloth over top, the other open. The open one, it was clear to see, held fresh meats -- some of the best cuts and a number still containing bone. "We... _I_ was just on my way to bring you these."

Clinton watched a moment longer, unmoving, arms restricted by what he was carrying. "Why do you hate them," he asked simply. "You wanted us. You wanted me to have my Mate - why?"

Anthony set the baskets down and took a step back from them, shaking his head as he went. "We are animals, Clinton. First and foremost. Our first instincts are always going to be animal instincts. I do not hate them."

"Your Wolf instincts are not like the wolves that raised me," Clinton said, staying still, ready to fight or flee. "If a Pup was sick, we still tried until it died, it was not mourned long, but it was given a chance. We were not the animals we hunted, letting the weak be caught so we could escape. We were not _prey_. Why do Wolves hate what is weaker, what is different?"

"Because it is what has kept us alive. What few of us there are left. What is different has never been good. And the weaker slow us down when we need to flee. Shunning both has helped us to stay alive. To continue on." Anthony's answer came right on the heels of Clinton's questions. It was just the way things were. Had always been.

"We turn others to our kind - you taught me that." There was hurt beneath the confusion. "You told me what was consuming me was called Love. Hateful Men kill us, they are not weaker... we are the weak ones."

Anthony sighed and ran a hand through his messy dark hair. Slowly, he paced the hallway. "Ages ago. It's how things were ages ago. To leave and shun the weaker, the different. To ensure that the rest could carry on. Long before we learned we could change others. It is an instinct that has come from generations of it being a necessity."

"Why do I not have it?" Clinton asked. "Mine is to heal and protect and keep."

Anthony shrugged, his face scrunching up in confusion. "Evolution? I do not know."

"Will you attack mine again?"

"No." Anthony shook his head. "I gave my word to my Mate that I would behave and try to remember my own pup could have been Manborn. You and yours are welcomed here."

"Bruce was not here before." It was quietly said, as though Clinton was reminding himself how tenuous their place in this Keep was. "May I go."

Anthony nodded and pointed the toe of his boot to the baskets. "There's fresh meats for you, Donald, and your new member. The other has bread, jerky, a jar of milk, and some butter for Jocelyn and Phillip."

"Thank you," Clinton said, because he'd been taught to. He would return for them once he had a hand free.

With another nod, Anthony turned to start back off to his workshop to tinker.

Clinton couldn't help his waiting until Anthony was gone, a strange feeling deep inside, something he did not know the name of. He stepped past the baskets and brought the blankets and Basket inside, leaving half of them for the female of their number before taking the rest, and the basket, in to Phillip. "There is food," he said. "I can bring it in."

As if on cue, Phillip's stomach gave a small grumble. Blushing a bit, he nodded. "Yes, please. I need to eat so I can feed Stephen later."

Clinton nodded and nosed his hairline before standing again and retrieving the baskets. He paused in the main room, offering them to the ladies. "Food for us," he said simply. "From Anthony."

Natalia came and looked in the basket. "Safe?" she asked.

"Safe," he said, watching as she took a few selections of the raw meat for herself. He offered the Man-food basket to Mother.

Jocelyn took a chunk of bread and some of the jerky before nudging the basket back towards Clinton. "Take the rest to Phillip. I'm sure he needs it. Thank you."

Clinton nodded to them both goodnight. Once back in the inner den, door cracked open, he set the baskets down, offering the one to Phillip. He took a chunk of the meat for himself to nibble on while he stayed in Man-form, knowing he would eat-share the rest with Donald when the pup woke, he did not want to keep it in his belly basket too long.

Phillip picked through his basket, taking out the jerky and the milk to have as most of his meal. Stephen was already tucked safely in his basket, leaving Phillip's arms open and free. In the privacy of their own quarters again, Phillip could curl up and snuggle against Clinton however he pleased, without worrying of prying eyes. Well, other than their sons. But that didn't really count.

Clinton slipped his arm around his Mate, keeping him close. "We are safe, tonight," Clinton said. Safe from Hunters, from anything that might hurt them or their Pups.

Phillip nodded, snuggling in close as he ate.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((We're coming up on the end, a few more chapters and an epilogue, I think. I wrote all but two paragraphs of this while waiting for my car to be fixed (the first part) and while processing the multiple losses in my life of late (the second) -- You may want your hankies for this one. It hurt to write. Much love, be excellent to each other. Never forget to tell people you care. ~R))

**It was a cold morning** , roughly five years after their pack was nearly torn apart by instinct and pride. Five years, where quiet awkward acceptance turned to tumbling and joy. Five years for Natalia to become fully integrated. Five years for Stephen to grow, and learn, and speak. Five years for the rift between Clinton and Anthony to heal.

Five years. 

Stephen and Donald were playing in a pile of leaves that Clinton and Phillip had gathered together for the Pups to play in. Maria was in her Man shape, only a little taller than Stephen, with her parent's dark hair in contrast to Stephen's bright blond. Between them, Donald yipped happily, jumping and burrowing in the pile along with them, his silver-white fur turned dusty from their play. Among them were a pair of twins, Antoine and Alphonso, gotten on Pepper by Rhodes (magic at work, of course) only a few years younger than the other three - choosing to stay Wolf shaped to play with their big 'cousin' Donald, and his little brother and sister - Pietro (named by Natalia) and Wanda; as well as the little boy Henry, who stuck to Man shape to play with his big sister and cousin. 

Clinton watched from the side, amusement in his gaze. He took Man-shape today, helping Phillip wrangle the Pups, ready to shift at a moment's notice to catch some of the youngest, if need be, barely registering the chill autumn air. The joyful mixture of laughing and barking young caused him to grin, his eyes dancing. 

Time had been good to them all. 

Leaning in against Clinton’s side, Phillip watched with a soft smile on his lips as their four beautiful Pups jumped and frolicked in the leaves with their cousins. It had taken a considerable amount of time before Phillip had truly become comfortable being back in the Keep. So many times, in the first year being back, he would spend nearly every second of the day either in his little metal shop creating things to sell at market to get money to buy things for themselves, or holed up in their den playing with Donald and Stephen, doing his best to teach them as they grew. 

That was ages ago, though. Now, with new pack members and new Pups in their midst, things felt good once more. A new stone had been turned, and for once Phillip was looking forward to what the future had in store for them. Snuggling himself into Clinton’s side, he sighed softly in contentment; even as the littlest ones tried to make a break for the treeline. “Donald! Keep the Pups out of the trees. You all need to stay where we can see you. No running off, remember?” 

The young Wolf barked, scuttling through the leaves to go chase the younger of their number back to the scattering pile, tumbling with them among the bracken. Stephen grinned and laughed, wrapping his arms around his little brother’s neck in a hug when he arrived, before rolling him over into the leaves with him, giggling. 

Clinton nosed Phillip’s cheek briefly before returning his attention to the children. He laughed when they tumbled over each other, making such a mess of the pile there wasn’t much of one left. 

“Love,” Clinton said softly to his Mate, grinning at the Pups playing. 

“I love you, too,” Phillip replied, leaning into his embrace with a chuckle. “Too bad the others aren’t here.” 

“I think babysitting duty is best,” he replied. “Just as fun as hunting.” 

The Manborn huffed a laugh, “Natalia begged to go on the hunt again?” 

“You know as well as I that Natalia never begs.” 

“She won the tussle for it?” 

Clinton laughed and nosed Phillip’s shoulder. “Is it too difficult to believe I simply wanted to spend time with you and the Pups without everyone else?” 

Phillip bumped their hips. 

“Yes, she won.” 

The two laughed and leaned against each other, swaying with the gentle wind as they watched the young at play. 

Fur became limbs light as sand and dark as earth, as one by one the Pups shifted to Man form in attempt to save their pile of leaves, until Donald was left yipping at them, nipping at their heels, and making a nuisance of himself in the leaf pile making. He was bigger than most of them in his Wolf form... the only form he knew. He joyfully capered about them until Pietro climbed onto his back and grasped his ruff, and then he carefully gave his younger sibling a ride around as the others worked. 

Phillip smiled wistfully. His two firstborn were unlike the others, having stayed in the shape they’d had at birth. He didn’t know whether that would affect their lifespans, if they took more after their grandsires than those who came together to create them. It was one of the things that made him worry so during the first long while after they’d returned carefully to Anthony’s pack. 

It was a fear Clinton shared, outliving once more. The Wolfborn did not speak of his fear, instead curling around Phillip at night, their mixed Pups between them. As the seasons passed, he slowly began allowing himself to hope, to believe in their longevity. 

They had only been returned to Starke Keep a few months when Bruce began to carry once more; and Pepper’s visit South had her returning and creating a Mate’s bond with Rhodes, without changing the Mage, and at the same time began to carry her first progeny. The need to protect family, Pack, began to overcome his fear of being expelled once more. He and the other Bearers spent more time together, caring for the three born first to the Pack while Clinton and Anthony hunted. 

Phillip and Jocelyn were there to help with the births, Clinton and Natalia a fierce guard as the rest of the pack grew by three over the course of a few nights. Henry was born Man-shaped to Bruce and Anthony, breaking the last of the fear between them all, and Pepper bore a mixed pair as Phillip had; Alphonso with fur the deep black of shadows in the night, and Antoinne as sun-burnished as his sire. 

Comfort and peace calmed the smaller Family-Pack and, finally feeling safe, Phillip began to Bear once more. It wasn’t long before two small wolves, red-brown and silver, were born. Clinton looked to Natalia as her eyes shone that first day, gently petting the silver fur, a shade darker than Donald’s own, and asked softly after her thoughts. 

And so the silver Pup was named Pietro, from her long lost littermate - and Wanda, was given to the red-brown Pup, named for a woman with dark hair and scarlet robes who’d taken Clinton in when he was new-shifted, the kindest of the Men Clinton had met in his short time bearing Man’s own shape before meeting Phillip and entering his new life. They shifted to Man-form within the month, earlier even than Maria had, and Clinton cuddled up the older boys as he watched Phillip suckle their tiny helpless Pups. 

Life reached a new normal, the hunting Pack taking different forms at whim, and as Phillip leaned against Clinton watching the group of laughing children and lone Pup, he smiled. 

They, at least, would not have to work through the prejudice of the previous generation. They were as indiscriminate with their joy in each other, their filial love, as the best family could possibly be - and that joy spilled over into the rest of the Pack, stronger than they’d ever been before. 

A howl in the distance announced that a kill had been made, and Clinton grinned, his eyes dancing as he kissed his Mate fully. They would eat well, tonight! 

* * * **A Few Years Later** * * *

**“Run! Get them to safety, and DON’T LOOK BACK!”**

The first arrows had missed, but that wouldn’t last for long. 

Those who could shift went Wolf - racing alongside the Wolfborn and carrying the Manborn as though they were equine, small fingers clutched in dense ruffs. Donald and Maria ran herd on the other Pups racing to the old sacred ground the ancient Standing Stones provided. Maria had one of Phillip’s Newpups, Skye, by the scruff - while Steven’s young Man’s legs ate up the ground close behind, the Manborn littermates of Skye - Jemma and Leopold - clutched to his chest. 

Antoine took point, calling on the South for safety - to bring on the twilight Time Between Times more swiftly so that they might escape the Men who sought Wolf Pelt. Antoine rushed through the first spells his Mage father had taught him, shielding their pack, while Alphonso’s hulking black wolf form - despite the twins being only ten - darted interference along the side, joining Maria in herding the younger Pups to safety. 

Donald fell meters behind the rest, just to be sure Alphonso didn’t miss any stragglers, remaining just outside Antoine’s Shield. He looked over his shoulder, despite his Bearer’s command to not look back. The Elders of their Pack, their parents, were a mix of Wolf and Man form - fighting off the Hunters. (He spared brief thought to be grateful that his Grandmother and her friend, Anthony’s Manservant Jarvis, were having a quiet day at the Keep.) 

It didn’t look good. 

“Donald! Full count!” shouted Steven from the Southern arch, wind whipping his older twin’s sunshine coloured hair just as it parted his own snowy coat. He bark-howled his acknowledgement, seeing Steven thrice-sunwise-turn and rush through the ripple beneath the arch, gone between one heartbeat and the next, Alphonso racing ahead of him to where rest of their generation had vanished across the threshold. 

Donald raced to join them, and yelped as an arrow pierced his left hip, sending him tumbling to the dark earth. Distantly he heard his Bearer’s denying scream even amongst the fighting. 

The hastened Time Between Times was drawing to a close, and he had to make it across to the South - they would remove the burning, pure silver, arrowhead from his leg. They would make it so he could heal. 

If things continued to go as badly as it had seemed when he last looked back, Steven, Maria, and himself would become the new Leaders of the Pack. Man, Mixed, and Wolf. 

He struggled through the pain to his feet, running on three legs toward safety, blinking away blurred vision as he whined his pain - the sound lost beneath the shouts and snarls of the fight behind him. He stumbled to the ground with a whimper, the pain in his leg causing it to collapse, and laying still was the only way he could think to breathe through the burning. Distantly he saw Alphonso pause at the stones, take a few steps toward him. Donald tried to gather the energy to send a commanding bark, but Alphonso - seeing the elder Pup unmoving, took his thrice-turn and disappeared South with the rest. 

That was good. Donald wasn’t sure he’d make it, and Alphonso was the next largest of their generation. A good protector. He would be a good lieutenant to Stephen and Maria. The Pup closed his eyes and breathed, wondering if he would die, or if his Bearer would come find him once the Hunters were defeated. 

It took a few moments to realise there was a Satyr beside him, speaking his name and running gentle hands down Donald’s side before pulling the barbed silver arrow from his flank, causing the Pup to yelp loudly at the pain as it was torn free, breaking through the haze of pain - sharpening his focus. 

“Shift, son of the Newborns - shift and you shall survive,” he urged. 

Donald had never shifted before, fear causing him to show the white of his eyes as he whined at the Satyr. 

“Feel that place inside you, push through the pain, Pup; find your Manshape.” 

As though Donald hadn’t fought nearly every day of his life to gain a shape that meant he could be like the rest. He had comfort only in that his littermate had the same difficulty finding his warm place. 

“Do not tell me you cannot. You will, and you must. Great things are in store for you, little Healer. Find the place that feels vulnerable, curl up in the fragility of your Bearer’s first form,” the Satyr urged, running a hand over Donald’s soft white bloodstained fur. 

Afraid, Donald struggled to manage it, the light fading swiftly from the treetops. It was almost too late to get to safety when he finally made it, a soft tingle of Satyr’s magic giving him that last little push that no near-mortal creature could manage. 

“Take this and run. Your fate is changed.” 

“What?” Donald asked, Man’s language new and strange on his tongue, his hands clutching the leaves (Oak, and Ash, and ‘Thorn) thrust to him, automatically - then stumbled through the arch (forgetting to turn thrice-sunwise, vaguely hearing the Satyr’s “I am sorry!”) just as darkness embraced him. 

*

**As the last of them** stumbled through the stones, Maria rushed forward on swift paws - all but skidding to a stop. In swift motion, she shifted to stand among her pack on two feet. It took moments to count the others of her generation once more. Seeing the near wild look in her eyes, Stephen joined her in verifying the count. 

"Donald," she said, rounding on Alphonso, the last of them across The Time Between. "Where is Donald?!" 

"He... was right behind me?" he answered, just as worried. "I mean, he fell, he took an arrow-" 

Stephen whimpered in dismay. 

"He, there was a Satyr, kneeling by him, I... the last I saw, but-" 

Stephen snarled, a sound that had never left his throat before. "Alphonso... Where is my littermate!?" 

If he were in Wolf form, the younger Pup would have his tail tucked. "He... didn't... he wasn't up when I saw him last." Alphonso's dark eyes never left the ground. 

Small Manborn Pups crawled amongst the older Pups' feet. Jemma and Leopold making their way to their eldest sibling. 

"Ria..." Stephen whimpered as she clutched his thin arm. "Ria, where is Donald?" 

"I don't know...." 

As their Pack gathered around, quiet in their elder's presence, Stephen's younger siblings gathered to him, pressing close, all skin and fur - even the youngest of them sensing something wrong. 

They waited, Stephen taut and ready to rush to Donald's aid when his littermate would stumble through. 

They waited. 

And waited. 

...And waited. 

The Time Between came to an end - the night they left Man's World was a bright day in the South. Suddenly, Stephen screamed, a soul-rending sound unlike any of the Pups had ever heard before, thunder crashing without lightning in the cloudless sky. Maria hid her face against his shoulder, longing for her Wolf form and the simplicity it provided as the sunshower began. The others began howling their anguish, Manborn children crying in counterpoint - the cacophony of mourning echoing through the South. 

Stephen crumpled to the ground, the small connection to his littermate suddenly cut loose. While the boy knew his father and bearer, as well as the others, would be alright - likely to join them at the next Time Between - he felt as though his heart had torn a piece free, and flung it into the forge-fire to burn to nothing in a hot flashing flame. 

Maria went down with him, wrapping slim arms around his narrow chest, weeping against his shoulder while trying to hold him together with all her young strength. Despite her efforts, Stephen... broke. 

Anguished screams turned to a low throated _howl_ as he took Wolf form for the first time, the near scrawny Manborn shifting to the form of a powerful adolescent Wolf, larger than the others, a deep brown thick coat with a throat white as snow... white as his littermate had been. 

Rain poured down on them all, soaking them as thunder sang above their heads - wrong and broken without the bright flash of lightning to accompany it. One by one, the others found their shapes. Maria's black form stood at Stephen's shoulder, the triad of their generation’s alphas now only two - voices raised in lead of the Pups collective anguish. 

**Denizens of the South** slowly followed the sound, unnatural to their peaceful realm. Pixies flit between the branches, keeping watch. Dryads stepped from their trees, bearing flowered branches to surround the mourning young, Naiads brought fresh water from their brooks to assuage the thirst of the youngest among the young Pack. When no rejection of their presence was made, the Pixies gathered milk, leaving it for the youngest of the pups, as well, in brim-filled wooden troughs. 

Then came the Faerie, tall and willowy; they set up a perimeter, whispering spells of comfort amongst the soft murmurs of the Dryads and the sweet babbled worry of the Naiads. 

Finally came the Wolves of the South, from their territories, the long-unheard sound of Mourning Song drawing them near. These were new voices, singing a song those of the South had all but forgotten. 

In the comfort that only those of their race could provide, the other Packs raised voice in counterpoint to their cousins' woe. 

*

**Dusk came and, with it, The Time Between.** One by one, their Elder Pack stepped, wounded and triumphant, from Man's World. 

One by one, shock covered their features as they rushed to their young, Phillip’s hope shattering at the lack of the lone silver Pup amongst their number. 

Clinton was the first to reach the unfamiliar Wolf in the center, surrounded by his Pups, with Maria's dark form pressed to his side. The first to kneel beside the two of them, frowning in worry. The other Pups yipped and howled their heart's pain as their parents gathered close. As Phillip knelt at his Mate’s side, a bare moment later, their Pups crowded them closely. Clinton raised a broad hand to carefully pet the ruff of the unfamiliar Wolf. Unfamiliar... but for those eyes. Water from the rain dripped from Clinton's lashes as he looked into them. 

"Stephen?" he asked, his throat closing up. 

In a blink, his eldest was Man-shaped, scrawny as ever in a way the Wolf was most definitely not. "D... D... Donald didn't make it. He... I can't feel him inside..." he hiccupped a harsh sob as he clung tightly. 

"...Gone?" Clinton whispered, clutching his son close. 

"Al... Alphonso said there was an arrow. He... he said Donald didn't... didn't get up." 

Phillip screamed his denial, clutching their other Pups close. 

Clinton wrapped strong arms around him as he felt his heart crack. His Pup was gone. It was a heartbreak he was not unfamiliar with but... he'd begun to hope. To believe that these litters would, at least, be as long lived as himself. They weren't supposed to leave, to go beyond so young. 

He loved each and every pup and Pup he'd sired more than anything. They were carved deep in his heart in a way only his Mate could compare. As Phillip crumpled against him, attempting to find solace from the pain in the form of a whimpering Wolf, Clinton let go his Firstborn enough to grasp Phillip’s dense ruff. 

"Not your fault," Clinton whispered to them, his Mate, his eldest, and the pitch black form of Maria, pressed to his Firstborn's side. "Not your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault." He rocked them as one by one the others of their number shed skin for thick fur, until finally Stephen did as well, and Clinton could do so himself. 

Under watch of the South's peoples, the Pack sang their heartbreak until the moon no longer shone, and the newly raised sun remained hidden by the thunderous rain called down by the young soon-mates. Eleven years was far too young to be lost. 

One by one, the young Pups fell to exhaustion, curled tightly together in shared misery. One by one, the elders did the same, until the only Wolves awake were Bruce, Anthony, Clinton, and Phillip. 

Taking Man's form, Bruce slipped carefully among the sleeping young, Anthony keeping Wolf form at his side. The two bracketed the mourning parents. 

Bruce wrapped his arms around Phillip, letting him take Man's form and weep against his broad shoulder, fellow bearer, as Bruce murmured the sort of comforting words only a Manborn could give. 

Anthony came to Clinton and nuzzled his face before he gently bit the top of his muzzle. Clinton's mourning howl diminished to quiet whimpers, as Pack Alpha took his burden with the simple action that reminded the younger Wolf his responsibilities could be laid at his elder’s feet. 

With a soft whine, Clinton lay amongst the Pups, nose pressed to his Mate's stomach, as his Man-Wolf beloved cried himself to the same exhausted sleep as their Pups. He lifted his head as Natalia approached, russet red and - like himself- still smelling of Hunter's blood. She licked under his chin, ever his beta and helpmeet, and nosed at his side with a soft tingle of magic. She knew his pain, and would lend him her strength. Clinton lay his head back down on his Mate's stomach and, with shaking breaths, closed his eyes. 

Under the South's protective gaze, the Pack slept. Anthony was the last of them to succumb, and then only because he saw Titania step from the wood and nod her confirmation that they were safe at last. 

"We will care for you in your sorrow," Titania whispered as the sky hesitantly cleared, watching the Pack's restless sleep. "You are safe, and you will heal with time. Your Pack will be the salvation of Man's world."


End file.
